Author's note: Sorry about the delay, everyone! What a crazy past few weeks I've had, but I finally finished my thesis! So I've had lot's of time to work up the nerve and gumption to finally write this chapter. It's fairly long, to make up for the long time between posts. I hope you all enjoy it, and if you're uncomfortable with consensual love-making depicted in fiction, then please refrain from reading on. Yes, finally! One, maybe two, more chapters after this one, I think. I'd love to hear what you all think so far! Those reviews are absolutely wonderful.

Chapter Eighteen

The week passed in a blur of meals, reading, sleeping side by side, and a building lust that seemed to pervade the cozy chamber and make for a low level of tension between the two of them. It was winter holiday for the students, so Hogwarts was mostly deserted. Hermione remained in her pajamas for most of the day, and Severus enjoyed watching her padding around his apartments barefoot and clad in her navy blue sleepwear.

He made her tea and brought her books and whatever she needed from her own rooms, which was very little. Hermione made a point to keep in her shoe, a shrunken emergency overnight kit that would last her a few days, so all she needed was her pajama sets and some of her casual clothes.

They played their music together often, and Severus watched her carefully to make sure she didn't overtax herself, after all, he was eagerly awaiting her full recovery.

It had been enough when her presence had been merely an attribute to his evenings, a bright point of light and exuberance and undeniable lust, but now she pervaded his every moment, sleeping and awake. At night in bed, it would be hours before they slept, lying on their sides, facing away from one another, each willing away their desire with all their might.

There were warm waking moments in the dawn, soft drowsy evenings, delight at mealtimes and, as her bruises began to heal, chilly brilliant walks through the grounds of Hogwarts.

It was on one lazy, sunny morning, early enough so that the air was still white-lit, when their time together took a sharp and irrevocable turn.

Hermione had awoken early, as was her habit, and had found that Severus had already risen. Smiling, she rose from the bed, and finding the apartments empty, she decided that the best way to occupy her time alone was to curl up with one of his books and a cup of his good coffee.

Severus, meanwhile, had gone to the hospital ward to drop off some of the skin-binding potion that he and Hermione had brewed the night previous. He had left it on the doorstep of the mediwitch's offic, as the ward wasn't open yet, and stopped by the kitchens to retrieve some warm pastries for their morning meal.

He was in high spirits, as his work for the break was completed, and he had an entire week left in the company of his nymph. Despite the frustration and the occasional bouts of self loathing over his week-kneed adoration, he had never been happier in his entire life. Who would have thought that taking care of someone could make him so elated?

He returned to his apartments, smiling in anticipation of her reaction to the pastries he had brought. If living with her these past few days had taught him anything, it was that she held a secretive and passionate love for food in her, and though her studies often got in the way of her culinary delights, she took every joy from eating, and he made sure that she could do this often. It had become a pleasure for him to watch her eat, and to mark the mischievous glint in her eyes whenever he laid a new delicacy on her plate.

There had been a time when a lazy day like today would have found him consumed in the gloomy confines of his office, or spending a solitary day reorganizing his potions supplies, before finally returning to his quarters to play his violin until his fingers ached and bled.

Days like this used to frighten him, shock him to the core that whenever he glanced up from the tedium and his consuming dedication to his work, there was little left for him to turn to.

His receding fear of days like this was one of the reasons why he was so pleased to find someone to join in his solitary passion. His violin had been his sole comfort on days like this in the past, and now, both he and the instrument were treated to companionship.

They had been equally emboldened by the potency of the simple pleasure of joining in the creation of music, and each began to notice the elements of their lives which brought them joy. They had found comfort in books, food, music; all sensual pleasures and indulgences that every human needs a certain quantity of in the course of their lives. As they began to give in to the indulgence of simply being in one another's presence, it occurred to them that they may require more of these simple comforts than a good deal of the rest of the world.

Severus opened the door to his chambers to silence. He strode into the kitchen, depositing the pastries on his counter. He was on his way to tidy up the main study for their breakfast, when he froze at the door.

Reaching a pale, slender arm up to one of the higher shelves on his bookcase, Hermione stood with her back to him, clad in white panties, and a light blue tank top that rode up as she stretched to reach the book.

Severus was sure that his legs were about to give out as the blood rushed southerly so quickly. He had never gotten so hard, so fast, in his entire life.

She was balanced on her tiptoes, stretching her fingers to coax a rather intriguing-looking volume down from a high shelf, when she heard a breath hitching behind her.

She swiveled, abandoning the book, and watched as, at the view of her nightclothes from the front, Severus actually whimpered , suddenly clutching the doorframe for support.

"Gods! What are you trying to do!? Kill me?!?" He gasped, trying to cope with the sudden dizziness.

His reaction to her state of undress had been so sudden that she immediately felt the answering desire welling up within her.

He was shocked at his own response. Of course, it had been quite some time since he had made love, but the mounting tension between the two of them over the last few weeks had come to a crescendo, peaking on this day, this morning, with the two of them silently regarding one another in the main study of his rooms.

The sunlight streamed into the window, illuminating the dust that floated in the air, and the only sound was the accelerated breathing of the two figures who faced each other across the room.

"I- I'm sorry to have made you feel awkward, Severus. I didn't mean to offend you with my sleeping attire," She said, suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious at her near nudity. The camisole she wore was thin, and her nipples were outlined behind the soft, clinging fabric. The hem rose up, exposing the flat of her lower abdomen, which was suddenly riddled with goosebumps as the silent pause deepened. "I suppose I'll go put on my dressing gown..." She moved to cross the room, but his dark form was in front of her in moments.

"I didn't mean to be so harsh, a moment ago." His tone was apologetic. He took her wrist lightly in his cold fingers. Her skin was soft and dappled with golden hairs which sparkled in the sunbeam that slanted through the room. His hand looked large and white, with fine, black hairs across the back, a stark contrast to her small, honey colored palm.

His knuckles brushed lightly against the smooth expanse of skin on her leg, where her hand had fallen, still cradled in his own, and he felt her shudder, rather than saw it. His mouth was ajar, and his eyes wandered over her face, meeting her eyes, which were large and almost entirely dilated. "You did...make me feel awkward, but... you see, I didn't mind so very much." With this his hand boldly pulled her palm to briefly nudge the area where his trousers had become increasingly uncomfortable.

He watched her mouth fall open in a gasp, and her pupils dilate further, her eyes going glossy. He took a deep, calming breath to attempt some measure of control over the situation, and his stomach tightened even further in shocking arousal when he smelled the evidence of his affect on her, permeating the warm, dusty air of his study. Books and pastries and the smell of an aroused woman. He suppressed a groan.

"G-gods..." She muttered, and allowed her forehead to rest tentatively on his breastbone, her eyes closed and lips parted. Her breath puffed against his chest. He glanced down at the smooth and lightly freckled skin of her upper body, and felt a nearly irresistible urge to bend his head to place his lips at the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

She realized at that moment that they were both shaking. Her restless hand, still partnered with his own, felt his answering tremble in the quivering grip.

She felt a brief stab of worry. Could they do this? This thing between them had become greater than any other emotion she had ever had to deal with. They were both individuals who were used to suppressing emotions. Could they allow themselves the vulnerability to allow those emotions to surface entirely? Could the take this...thing...to the next level without exposing themselves to the harsh problems faced in a sexual relationship between two such intense and passionate individuals? Where would they go from here?

The questions arose, floated at the surface of her consciousness, and then sank again, one by one, at lull of the reassuring rhythm of his breath against the top of her head. His mouth sought the skin where her hairline began at her temple, and then he felt her smile against his breastbone.

"It's been... a long time, Hermia..." He muttered into her hair.

She paused apprehensively before responding, "Longer for me." Her voice shook.

He groaned at her confession, his grip tightening on her fingers. "How is your..." He was worried about her injuries. One of his hands had wandered to her waist, and his thumb rubbed the fabric of her camisole over the skin that had been bruised in the conflict. The friction was heavenly, and she was fortified to reach the hand that had rested on his chest up to skim up to rest over the warm spot on the back of his neck, where her fingertips grazed the soft hairs at his nape.

"I'm alright. See?" She untangled her hand from his and lifted up the hem of her shirt to expose the skin of her abdomen, where the bruising had faded to a healing flush, all traces of the dark purple having vanished over the last week.

He drew a shuddering breath, and his palm cupped the offered skin of her side, warming in the convex inward slope of her waist. He felt himself harden further as she closed her eyes, slowly and languorously, at his touch.

"Hermia..." He muttered, his eyes wide to take in the sight of her flushed face and labored breathing. As soon as the inward breath from the outward utterance of his name for her had slipped in between his parted lips, she stood on her tiptoes, and followed the same path with her tongue.

Their last encounters had been sudden and shocking, fierce and brief. This embrace was measured, calculated, almost, and long expected on both parts. Both having prided themselves on their skills in observation and recollection about their previous embraces, they were shocked to recognize, with new and astonishing clarity, every detail of this kiss.

In shoes, he towered over her in her bare feet, and his body bent over her own in a perfect arc. He was clad in his traditional black attire, so she was framed, white and frantic, against him as they kissed. His hand tightened at her waist, and his other arm reached behind her to pull her lower back to meet his midsection. She was shocked to hear his heart beat.

With her breath coming in short gasps from her nose, she detached from his mouth to burrow into the hollow of his jawline and neck, opening her mouth to taste the skin there. Her tongue smoothed over the slight roughness of his stubble, then she applied a small amount of suction to the warmth at his pulse.

His answered, strangled noise caused her to grin, briefly, against his skin, before returning to her ministrations on his neck. Gods, his neck, how did she know? Feeling his knees tremble, he decided that he should concentrate on her, not intending to be so frozen in delicious pleasure from her mouth on his throat.

He slid the hand on her abdomen tentatively up to cup her breast through the fabric of her camisole, delighted at the surprised gasp from her, that sent shivers through him as it cooled the wet skin of his throat.

He realized he was panting, and hoped he wouldn't black out. His hand at her breast cupped and molded, his thumb finding her nipple and brushing over it again and again, until finally, he slipped his hand easily under the camisole and found her nipple between his thumb and middle finger. She let out an astonished, "Ohh!" and her hips bucked against him.

He slipped one of his legs in between hers, and his free hand pushed her lower back towards him. Her mouth had fallen open, and her head lolled back slightly, exposing her neck to his own mouth, a situation which he took greedy advantage of. Dragging his lips over the white skin of her neck, he felt her small hand cup his erection through his pants, and managed not to spasm too violently.

She couldn't imagine a more pleasant way to die, she thought, as she attempted to slow the frantic beating of her heart. God, his hands. Those hands that played the violin so elegantly and adeptly, were now fully concentrated on her body, one pushed lazy circles against her lower back and caused ripples throughout her body, and the other, oh, the other, alternated rolling her nipple and molding her breast, smoothing the skin in circles.

She felt her backside touch his desk, which was placed near the window of the study, and realized that they must have moved. With the desk as support, the hand at her lower back abandoned it's post to smooth over her backside, stretching the cotton underpants up slightly so he could graze the skin of her buttocks with his fingertips, before he moved it down and over her thigh to her inner leg, where it drew lazy, shaking circles, much like their little experience in the great hall that one day not so long ago.

Her mouth returned to his neck, and her fingers switched from their rhythmic pushing against the fabric of his fly to swiftly undoing the buttons there. His head tilted upwards and he let out a groan as her fingers slipped into the fly of his boxer briefs. Her mouth was open, panting against the skin of his neck, and her hand was so smooth, tightening around his erection. His bucking into her hand pushed her body hard against the desktop, and she stood on tiptoe to push herself into a sitting position onto it's surface, then wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him nearer to her.

His hand on her inner thigh slipped up, the palm landing in the juncture of her legs at the same moment that he captured her mouth with his own, stifling her moan. The heel of his hand rubbed at her again and again, and her rhythmic gasps cooled his lips. Her hips thrust against his palm, and his body was jolted at the promise of the warm, wetness beyond the cotton of her panties. His palm jerked over the cotton and flesh that covered her hard pubic bone, pressing into her clit, before diving lower to press into the softer part, repeating this process again and again.

Her senses were overloading, and her skin tingled all up her arm where her hand gripped him. The electricity of the hot, firm skin that was cupped in her fingers was intoxicating. The warm, smooth outer skin glided over the impossible firmness of his erection as her hand wandered it's length, testing the textures and responses.

Their lust had built to a nearly intolerable level, and had somehow managed to transform these two, sane, adult individuals, into panting, groping, mutually masturbating teenagers. The disarming thought was erotic, and as their movements quickened, their mouths pulled apart, slightly to suck in air, but remained opened against one another's, colliding slightly as they spasmed with pleasure.

She dragged her hooded eyes from her admiration of his mouth, that was open, with his sexy, characteristically crooked lower teeth exposed from where his bottom lip had fallen open. When her eyes finally met his, black and half closed in pleasure and concentration, she let out a startled cry of near-completion, and he pressed against her harder, causing her eyes to cross slightly as she came hard against his palm, shouting, and gripping him harder in her fist.

This final grip combined with the vision of her spasming against his hand was enough to trigger his own release, and he managed to keep his eyes open and fixed on her as he came, groaning harshly. "Hermia....."

With all their energy spent for the moment, they toppled backwards like a sailboat in a heavy wind. They lay on the desk, panting in rhythm with one another, his head cradled against her chest. Her legs remained propped against his lower back, and his knees made a valiant effort to support his weight, to little avail.

That was fine with her, though. His weight was heavy against her hips and stomach, and his warm body on top of her felt like something she had wanted for some time. As her senses slowly returned and her vision cleared, she looked down at the sleek, dark head on her chest and ran her hands through his smooth hair, revelling in the heightened feeling in her nerve endings due to her recent orgasm.

Gods, he had made her climax from the simple rubbing of his palm and the skills of those talented, slender fingers. She felt the stirrings of arousal again, wondering what, if that had been the result of foreplay, what lovemaking would be like between them. She lifted her head to check his status again, reminding herself that she should hold her patience. She knew what she was getting into, loving an older man than herself, but he would have to get used to having a young lover.

At her glance, she realized that he was still fully clothed, with only his pants undone, and she was clad only in a rumpled camisole and panties that had been soaked through. A heavy fatigue settled over her, the remainder of her shattering orgasm, and he stirred slightly on her chest. His cheek scraped slightly against the soft, smooth belly that had been exposed during their interlude, and he rested his chin on her breastbone, his eyes soft on her face. She realized then, at the amused look in his eyes, that she was grinning from ear to ear.

"Something funny, my dear?" he inquired, his voice ragged. His mouth quirked up at her exuberant expression. Talk about afterglow, she positively beamed.

"No, nothing funny. You're still dressed." He glanced down at himself, briefly, before looking back up at her, a crooked grin on his face. There they were, framed for a moment, bent over the desk and grinning at one another, their breath still regaining normal tempo.

He stood up, after a time, and took her hands to pull her up. She raised an eyebrow at his rumpled appearance. She would have to become accustomed to seeing him less than immaculate.

He, in turn, examined her shirt, which was pushed above her navel, and her wild hair that curled around her jawbone. Her grin only added to the sex- kitten facade, and he laughed inwardly that this gorgeous, mature, talented woman could become a flushed and pleasantly debauched lover, in so short a time.

They stood, their bodies touching slightly, and hands still entwined. Examining his suddenly easy demeanor, she was finally convinced of her suspicion. "I'm in love with you, you know." She said, now slightly more somber.

He smiled lazily again. "I know. You've already told me." He tilted his head, indicating the cello which leaned against it's stand by the wall. "In the same way I've been telling you."

She looked at his violin, which perched on his table, and nodded, smiling to recall the passionate conveyal of his feelings through the music that he played for her. "Come on. Let's go to bed," she said, burrowing her face into his neck again. It was a gesture that she had grown quite fond of, much to his approval.

"Gladly." He replied, leading the way, one hand tugging hers.

"Just a minute," she said, pausing at the door. "Do I smell... Pastries?"

He laughed aloud at her eager curiosity. "Danishes, yes. I picked them up from the kitchens. Would you like one now?"

She thought for a moment. "No. No. I think I'd rather work up my appetite a little more before we eat, what do you think?" Her hand was on his chest again.

"I think... that you're going to need that danish to fortify you. I don't want your energy waning, and I know that once I take you in there, you're not coming out for a good... Week or so." His mouth brushed over hers, which had broken in a grin again.

"Then I'd better go get some of those carbs, if I'm to survive the day!" She trotted barefoot to where he had abandoned the bag, grabbing a danish and gripping it in her teeth before letting her hand graze his bottom as she passed him on her way into the bedroom.

Her laughter carried them both through the door to his bedchambers, in which they had spent chaster times than the one to follow.