A/N: You are in luck. I did manage to get this tweaked and edited and de-typoed in time for Monday. No guarantees about the next chapter, but I've already posted at least two weeks ahead of schedule, so in the event that I don't post, I won't have to feel too guilty. Enjoy! I know many of you have been hoping for a chapter of this sort...
Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.
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Three days before Christmas, Hermione returned home to Spinner's End. She surprised her husband on Christmas morning by catching him in the midst of breakfast preparations. In fact, breakfast preparations were put on hold; she pressed him up against the counter and kissed him fiercely, pulling off his robe and working her way down his chest with licks and nibbles. He didn't stand a chance, and was panting and gasping for breath by the time she got down on her knees.
"Happy Christmas," she told him mischievously, and then took him to the hilt. He let out a hard-won moan as she had her merry way with him.
He was looking delightfully disheveled by the time he had gathered his wits enough to pull her up and lift her onto the counter. Neither cared that this was where food was prepared; it was their kitchen, after all. And they always cleaned up thoroughly. He pressed his face against her breasts, reveling in their warmth and softness before taking one between his teeth.
"You've ruined my breakfast plans, witch," he mumbled through a mouthful of nipple.
Hermione glanced over at the thoroughly beaten egg-and-milk mix in a nearby bowl, the uncooked bacon slices, and the bits of balled-up dough in a pan that were meant to baked into rolls. She leaned back, bracing herself on one hand, and thrust her arm out toward the food. They instantly hopped to life: the pan flew into the oven, the egg yolk glided out of the bowl and onto the pre-heated pan, and the bacon followed suit. Severus's eyes widened in astonishment as she turned to give him a smug, self-satisfied smile.
And then he smirked, his eyes dark and daring.
"Try to keep that up while I do this."
And then he slid into her. Hermione grabbed onto him for dear life as he did everything within his power to drive her incoherent and insensate.
By the time they were finished, the food was ever so slightly overdone, but the show went on: breakfast was served.
~o~O~o~
Severus had a weak spot for his wife.
Particularly when his pretty wife was naked save for a scrap of lacy panties and one of his white button-up shirts that were a size too large for her.
He was meant to be reading. It was Christmas Day. He was allowed some peace and quiet in his home library, the opportunity to recline and enjoy himself. And the couch was disgustingly comfortable. But his eyes never quite stayed on the page long enough to understand the printed text.
He swore she knew what she was doing, though she would likely deny it if said aloud. But he was trying to read, and she was exceptionally distracting with the way she fussed about the scraggly tree, trying to give it some color and Christmas spirit. It was their house, her home, and she could march through it in the nude if she liked. But it made him feel like a schoolboy again; there was no dueling involved this time, but the fascination was the same. Watching how she moved when she wasn't covered up in teaching robes drew his attention with hypnotic sway. How could it not?
She glanced over at him over her shoulder, and his suspicions were confirmed. She knew. He felt his sallow cheeks turn flush. Twenty years. Nearly twenty years he had known her, and she still had inexplicable power to do this to him.
She licked her lips. He pulled the book up, attempting to salvage some dignity by hiding his expression under the flimsy excuse of reading.
A moment later, the book was pressed down by an insistent hand, and he was forced to look up.
He scowled. She laughed.
And then she was straddling him, and quite suddenly, the book was in the way; a categorical inconvenience. He let it drop to the floor. She cupped his cheeks with both hands, pressing her nose to his.
"Ready to open presents?"
Making love came before presents. It came right after, too.
~o~O~o~
Making lunch was an even less dignified affair than breakfast had been.
Glazed ham was not terribly difficult to attend to when one was a witch, even when one was a witch being bent over the kitchen table and spanked until her arse was bright red. The lemon cream pie was another matter, especially when some of the cool whip went to covering the blushing red handprints. The burgundy mushrooms were nearly impossible when the whip was licked off with long, lazy licks interspersed with nibbles and love-bites. By the time lunch was served, Hermione was reduced to a whimpering puddle of desire.
He tormented her throughout the meal. As soon as the dishes were put away and the table was clear, he directed her to lie on her back and spread her legs. It was an autocratic order that she complied with in haste, and he licked his lips in anticipation before bending over and grasping her thighs, pulling her apart further and angling his head before feasting upon her. Her head thunked back against the table. Dessert was delightful, to say the least. Taking her on the table when she was incoherent with need ranked high on his list of visions to treasure; it was difficult to top the sight of his wife spread before him in lustful abandon.
He kissed a trail down her belly while she came down from her high. She sighed softly and wound her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp with gentle strokes that made him feel like a sleepy cat under a practiced hand. Had he the vocal capabilities for it, he might have purred. As it was, he came rather close to doing so anyway.
He would never tire of this. Never.
~o~O~o~
It was a long day. He was tired.
His head shot up in surprise and he quickly stopped being tired when something hot drizzled down his exposed back. He had been lying belly-down on the couch, bored of sitting, unable to read comfortably in any upright position, and had very nearly fallen asleep using his book for a pillow. He twisted his neck around to look, and realized it was melted chocolate. His shirt had been done away with without his even noticing.
He let his head drift back down, his hair curtaining his view of the world in an inky spill. She laughed; somehow, his hackles stayed put when it was his wife who laughed at him. Perhaps it was because he knew where she lived. She wouldn't laugh at him cruelly with that in mind. You don't laugh at a Slytherin whose bed you share unless it's meant with the best of intentions. He snorted to himself at this, which elicited another peal of delight from her.
And then her tongue was on him, warm and moist against his skin, and he sighed as the chocolate was licked off. She straddled him, bending over to lick him clean, and he couldn't bring himself to protest at the weight. His discomfort was gone; he was remarkably happy where he was right now, even if he wasn't reading. Her hands rested on his shoulders, pressing and rubbing to loosen the knots, and he let out a contented sigh as she continued to work her magic.
Her hands squirmed underneath his belly to undo the buckle of his pants, and he lifted himself up slightly to give her better access. Talented witch like her could have slithered his trousers off with a snap of her fingers, but she preferred to be more hands-on. The pants were slowly tugged down just enough to expose his bare arse, and he felt her bend over to breathe air on the places she'd licked chocolate off him earlier. The muscles in his back jumped and twitched at this, and she pressed kisses to them before scooting further down his body so that she was resting on the back of his legs, just above the knees.
She began massaging his buttocks. He turned his head the other way, resting his cheek against his forgotten book. He felt ridiculous, with only part of his lower body exposed like this, but she was his wife, and she did as she pleased with him. He did the same to her often enough. And though she would find amusement at the way he responded when she first poured melted chocolate down his backside, she would never, ever laugh at him for this.
He was relaxed and limp as a rag doll when she poured dabs of chocolate on the globes of his arse. The muscles of his legs twitched at this, the only indication he had noticed. And then her tongue and teeth were on him, in not-so-subtle vengeance for what he had put her through for lunch, and he let a drawn-out moan escape him, disguised as a sigh.
The pants were tugged down another few inches. When she had first developed this seductive habit, Severus had been plagued by memories of James Potter taking off his trousers by the lake in front of the assembled students. He had no qualms about how his wife saw his body; it was merely the act of making a production out of unveiling it that irked him. But he never said a word about it to Hermione, and it didn't take long for him to learn to enjoy it. Any humiliation he'd ever felt about it was buried under the increasingly pleasant experiences at the tender mercies of his wife. He was totally exposed at her whim, completely at her mercy, and he was too lulled by her hands and tongue and talent to care.
Her hands ran up and down the backs of his legs, and then more chocolate was added. A nip here, a bite there that would certainly leave a purple mark, and he sighed and shifted his legs further apart. She rewarded him by licking the chocolate off and kissing the places she had left love bites. There was a hiss of leather as the belt buckle was pulled out of its loops, and she leaned forward until her lips were by his ear.
"Put your hands out."
He complied. The belt wove four times around his arms, and was then secured. It was fairly loose, and had he half a mind to do so, he could easily slip free. In fact, if he didn't keep his arms pressed against the couch, it would probably slip off of its own accord. It was merely the illusion of having him at her mercy that titillated her, and once she had put him in this sleepy, semi-hypnotic state, it never occurred to him to not obey. She used her wiles to seduce him into compliancy, and the bonds were merely confirmation of her success. She was talented, his witch.
She rewarded him by licking and nibbling on the shell of his ear. His eyes finally fluttered close. She brushed his hair back with her fingers to expose his neck, and began working on that, too.
They normally did not have the opportunity to do this. Not this way. Hours were spent teaching, and if not patrolling, then marking essays and grading tests. If they were lucky, they got a full night's sleep. Sex was easy enough to arrange here and there, and it was certainly an excellent stress reliever. But it was not this slow, teasingly worshipful, vulnerable tearing down of his walls in a manner that left him sleepy and sated and feeling distinctly adored. Where, in all of that, would they have time or energy enough to do this?
The trousers were dragged down another few tantalizing inches, exposing the back of his knees. Almost immediately, he knew what was coming, but could not have braced himself for it. Chocolate was poured there, and he kicked out in ticklish reflex. Or he would have, if she had not known better than to properly tangle his pants around his lower legs so his movement was reduced to a spastic jerk. He felt her grip his trousers, twisting the fabric so that they left little room to move, and then her tongue was lapping up the chocolate.
She was clever in her seduction, but her attempts at sexual revenge lacked subtlety, for all that they were eminently successful. She was torturing him in a most delightful way, just as he had with her that afternoon, and he only had the energy to gasp and moan, muffling the sounds against the couch. At last, she was done, and the trousers were finally drawn around his ankles in an untidy heap.
And then she tapped his side with two fingers, indicating he should turn over. More than happy to hide his sensitive and ticklish spots from her, he did so, and she ran her hands up his body until she reached his chest, and then swung her leg over him again. His arms were folded behind his head, in the tangled, loose wrap of his belt, propping his head up at a comfortable angle.
She smiled at him, promising mischief of the best sort.
When she slid down on him, taking him inside her, he had to agree: it was mischief he was only too happy to submit himself to. It was even better when she cried out his name in a low, breathy moan.
When she was done abusing his person (in a most delightful way, his mind helpfully reminded him) she lay sprawled on top of him, pillowing her head on his chest and wearing a happy, sated smile that matched his own.
"I love you," he murmured sleepily, worming his arms free of the belt so that he could wrap them around her torso.
She pulled the belt up so that he could slither his arms out more easily, and then let it drop to the side.
She kissed him with loving adoration.
"I love you, too," she whispered. "Merry Christmas."
~o~O~o~
Hermione and Severus spent the remaining time before term resumed at Tine Cottage with their son. Sirius was staying at the Burrow, which left the property entirely to themselves and the cranky, aging hippogriff.
Hermione had hot tea and cakes waiting for them when they returned from flying around the rocky shore. She watched them through the kitchen window; Buckbeak dove into the surf, splashing them both. His talons grazed the green glass surface of the ocean when he glided further out, leaving behind a thin stream in his wake.
She smiled, setting down the teapot with the thought that if this was a taste of what life might resemble when the war was over, it couldn't come fast enough.
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-Anubis Ankh