Disclaimer: The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR.
My mind lives in the Harry Potter fanfiction world though my body is still thankfully anchored in the monotonous reality of existence. My themes, plotline, and storyline may, therefore, get indirectly influenced by many of the brilliant fanfiction writers on this site. And I humbly bow to such creative genius who give me much needed literary pleasures to see through the toils of mundane life. Lastly, I don't have a beta, so please be merciful. Reviews would encourage this introvert writer to peep out of her literary closet. (pl)
Chapter 19
Severus had watched Hermione sleep, in rapt wonder. A wave of his hand had added some more logs to the dying fire. She had unconsciously inched closer to his side. He never thought he would get to tire her. He had started feeling a couple of strands of her bushy hair, rolling them in between his index finger and thumb. She had her face turned sideways. The fire lit up her pale face. He had seen her blush in anger, blush in embarrassment through all those years, she had been his student. But tonight, he had made her blush at his expense. Not through rebuke or mockery, but through pure adoration and unhindered worship.
He never had the chance or the opportunity to show someone how, even, he could love and adore. Like a petal, he had held her. As a knight he had guarded her, and guided her through every flight they took tonight as their joined bodies, rolled over the waves of pleasure and pain with the doldrum winds ringing through their veins. The magic sealing their magical bond, holding on to trances of sanity. She smelled of vanilla and cocoa butter. He thought he had started liking the taste of it. There was light dust of freckles around her nose. Her eyelids were innocently fluttering. And her breath had been disturbing the trail of spurting hair on his chest. He had tried to, for the first time, to make love to a woman. Not a hasty act to quench those needs. No, she was no just a woman. She was his wife. She was the person he would be tied to. After living a lonesome life this was truly an intrusion into his privacy. And an intrusion he would like to test.
He recalled how she had reacted to his advances. Could it be called taming a cornered beast? He had seen her ferocity. When he had tentatively touched her ankle, he had trailed up his fingers leaving goosebumps over her leg, drawing soothing circles over her kneecap. He had skipped the journey up…for the time being. Instead, he had taken her small hands into his calloused, cut and roughened palm. Holding her gaze, he had lowed his lips on her knuckles. And he had lost himself then and there. He had failed to stop his lips gracing each of those diminutive hills with soft kisses. And on of the 8th knuckle, he had nipped, the tiniest bite. Just to get a reaction out of her. Her eyes had flared up, and she had rubbed her thighs together. And to stop his progression she had gripped upon his hands with all her might.
Severus thought she was hovering over the cusp of uncertainty. If he had been questioning their stand in all this farce, she had shown him a path they could walk on together. And now it was his turn to help her take the first step. He had pulled at her hands with such force, that they had fallen backward together. Skin to skin, heart over the heart. And he had held her in his arms. His nose had brushed against her ear shell. His lips had pecked at the soft skin. Nestled in between her warm and soft legs, he had stirred to life. Once he had her over him, he had to let go of her hands. In reflex, she must have circled them around his back. In fear and anticipation, ten nails were digging into his scarred back. He had a tempting desire to spell a mirror and watch those tiny new scars. It was her first show of claiming him as hers, something he would want to commit to memory.
For a couple of moments, she had sat still on his lap. Testing waters perhaps! That thought had made him chuckle. And as if to throw him a counter challenge, she had pressed herself firmly above him and had begun the primal foreplay. The subtle dance called grinding. He had to hold her still. Gripping her waist in an iron hold, he had bitten on her neck, sucking the gradually forming red patch, smoothing away the display of his ferocity.
Now, she was covered with many such displays of his wild love. First, he had felt a subtle shift in the way she had started gasping. Then she had mumbled indistinct words. But being a man who had bedded with nightmares for two decades of his miserable life, Severus Snape knew how nightmares jolted the victim from peaceful sleep to petrified wakefulness. He never knew how to hug, just to assure the person across. Lily had done them so often, so naturally, that in those innocent years before Hogwarts, he has envied her readiness at giving comfort. She had started shaking her head, and he knew he had to take the rein up once again.
He had tried something, he always thought would work for him. Trailing his fingers over her spine, he had first counted them. She was too thin, too pale and too uncared for. And now, she was his responsibility. He would chalk out a plan, first thing in the morning. Yes, that would call for potions, supplements and five balanced meals. Her knee shook, and he had felt himself stir again. He had opted for pressing his palm flat on her back and draw lazy circles over the expanse of her soft skin. She was whimpering now. And all he could think of was planting assuring kisses on her head. In his blissfully husky voice, he had whispered in the quiet air of the bedroom. The very air that now smelled of musk, arousal, and sweat. "You are safe…I got you…L…" He dared not to utter the last three letters. They had many hurdles to cross over. Right now, they were just trying to understand the dynamics of husband and wife. Would she ever think of him as a friend? No, he wouldn't stretch luck, to be her lover. And he had felt his anger boil up at that. He was a possessive man. And if it was his wife's love, he would very much prefer he had her entire attention till the last day of his life. He wanted to live now. For her. She had slowly started becoming his little paradise. And also for all the new relations, he had formed in the past few days.
Smiling at his capacity to start wishing once again, Severus had leaned down again and had nearly planted a chaste kiss over her scrunched-up brow…
"Ron…no…. Ron…don't leave me…do not... please come back…"
His lips were a hair away from her head, his hands on her back had stilled. Was he truly doomed, never to be loved by a soul? He had tried not to squeeze her too tight, throw her away from him, and shake her awake. Was it going to be like this, live with a woman, who will love a dead man? Had he not done that for all these years. Fate was a trickster.
The moment he had felt her stir, felt her whimpering grow by the passing seconds, and was certain she would wake up with a scream at the loss of her lover, he had closed his eyes and had pretended to sleep.
