Anti-lawyer spell: Only borrowing, not making any money with it, promise to
return ( although condition should have improved no guarantee is given).
Sorry for the long wait and the unfortunate cliffie. I promise this will be resolved asap, with a suitable citrus flavouring for all concerned.
Many thanks go to my marvellous beta- twinkle, twinkle Kellye.
Like Snape, I hate to grovel..so please leave a review.
The breath that Hermione was unaware she was holding rushed noisily from her lungs, breaking the utter silence of the room, but not the uneasy tension. She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms and find comfort and reassurance, but he was still glaring at her warily, no more receptive than before his declaration.
"Severus?" she whispered, taking a minute step toward him, hoping he would see her need.
"Miss Granger!" he hissed in warning, "I seem to remember saying that this is against my conscious will." Her eyes widened at his tone and then glazed with the tears she valiantly struggled to hold back. His glare softened slightly as he saw the shocked tears. "I need time Hermione," he added in a slightly softer tone, hoping to stop the floods of weeping which were threatening.
Hermione nodded her understanding, although her heart still beat loudly and her hurt still crept around her, longing to be released. "Can we talk?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, not knowing if she had the strength of body or soul to hold a conversation with him.
He nodded once, turning to sit back in the comfy chair he had recently vacated, crossing his long legs and composing himself. He gave no facial indication of his turmoil of feelings; the rush and tumble beneath the surface was glassed over by his stoic expression. Only his forefinger tapping on the chair arm showed any indication of his real state, but Hermione had noticed and it gave her a small measure of comfort to know that he was so affected.
She sat on the sofa opposite his chair, playing with the edge of her tee shirt and despartely trying to fill the silent void that had descended. She didn't know what to say; he had heard everything and still he had rejected her. He seemed to be waiting for her to talk first, and yet, even after running speeches and diatribes through her head for the last month, she had nothing to say to him of any value. They sat in silence and regarded each other, the tension of expectation rising, until Severus stood suddenly causing Hermione to start.
"Do you have a chess set anywhere in this flat?" he drawled, scanning the shelves in case he had missed it. Hermione smiled weakly, appreciating his conciliatory gesture, and went to rummage in the drawer of a bureau in the corner of the room. Bringing the small set with her, she set it up on the coffee table, kneeling on the floor as she did so. Severus returned to his seat, pulling it closer to the mid-height table. The table was glass topped, and her current sitting position, on her knees, legs swept underneath her, had caused her tee shirt to ride up, showing rather more thigh than was usual for Hermione. Quickly checking that she was preoccupied setting up the chess pieces, he allowed his gaze to wander, drinking in the sight of her, his eyes travelling to where his hands itched to reach.
"Uh, ummm."
Severus, his concentration broken, looked up into her slightly amused expression. Quickly shielding the guilt from his eyes and arrogantly sweeping his errant hair back, he turned his attention to the chessboard, determined not to let himself be caught out staring at her again. Hermione tried to solve the problem by catching the hem of her tee shirt and pulling it down to trap it beneath her knees. A strangled gasp from Severus brought her attention to the fact that this course of action only served to bring her neckline dangerously close to being nearer her waist than her neck. Blushing, she released the hem, pulling the cloth up to cover her exposed chest. When she looked up at him he was staring, a pink stain covering his cheeks as he struggled to control himself.
"Sorry," she murmured, trying to keep the giggles from her voice and plainly failing. The potions master still looked slightly stunned, but he managed to nod and return his attention to the board.
In a flash of Slytherin cunning, she knew she had him at a disadvantage. He might protest loudly that he was not choosing this, but his brain had obviously not told his body of his plans. She knew force would not work. She had tried and failed in that respect, but she had never even thought of using her feminine wiles. In a life spent trying to prove that she was as academically gifted as any male or pure blood, she had repressed the feminine aspect of herself. Flirting was not something that came naturally to Hermione; she felt more at ease solving a problem with her intelligence, than with her curves.
A new challenge now presented itself. She had tonight; just this one night, where Severus was vulnerable to her, when she could use his desire to achieve an advantage. She might not be particularly good at chess, but she was learning from a master, and a Slytherin to boot.
The game progressed slowly, far too slowly for Severus' liking. At each and every turn he found himself having to concentrate on seeing this side of the glass, not allowing his vision to pass through it to the view underneath the table. She had shifted slightly, her legs curled to the side of her, still clearly visible whenever his control wavered. He brought his gaze up to her face and found her biting her bottom lip in silent contemplation of her possible next moves. Unguarded, innocent and utterly beautiful, he mused.
Had he known that she was biting her lip in order to prevent herself from giggling at the sudden shift in the potion master's mood, he would not have been pleased to say the least. It was working; she could see it in his eyes, a softening and a desire that showed exactly how much memory he retained of their earlier relationship. He was remembering their every caress, the feel of her skin and the scent of her. If someone knew him well enough to look for the signs, it was all reflected in his slightly glazed black eyes and the rapid tempo of his nervously beating forefinger.
He could not remember the last few moves of the game; she had distracted him to a point where he knew that it must have been a calculated move on her part. She was not playing chess. She was playing him! He realised that she had learned from her earlier mistakes and was leading him towards checkmate with his own blessing and somewhat eager participation.
"Checkmate, I believe Miss Granger," he said a few minutes later, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. His sudden realisation of his predicament had forced him to raise his game, bluffing his way out of her attack and quickly and mercilessly cutting down her defences.
Hermione smiled. It was the closest game they had yet played, and she felt it rather a draw in the circumstances. Gracefully rising from his seat, Severus proffered his hand to help her rise from her position on the floor.
"I believe that it is time for me to wake from this dreame, and for you to get some rest before tomorrow," he murmured, his velvet voice caressing her skin and making her legs feel weak.
Hermione pulled on Severus' hands to aid her getting upright, and found that standing put her shockingly inside his personal space. She kept her eyes on his hands, which were still holding hers, his thumb gently and absentmindedly rubbing across her knuckles. Where the tension had almost disappeared a few moments before, it had now returned to an almost unbearable pitch. She was so desperate not to rush him, not to scare him away when she was so close to the break through she longed for.
"Hermione. I have to go." His voice sounded dull, as if he had to struggle to produce the insincere words. "This is not a good idea."
"I know," she whispered, reaching one hand up to cup his cheek, running her hand up and into the hair at his nape. Standing on tiptoe she pulled him toward her, gently placing a chaste kiss upon the cheek her hand had just caressed. She gently moved back, her hand remaining around his neck, her fingers gently teasing the soft skin. " I know, but I can't help myself, my love."
He closed his eyes, clearly concentrating on the simple act of breathing, determined to regain some measure of self-control. It did not help that the loss of his vision allowed his other senses to come to the fore. He could feel her skin, the soft fingertips caressing his neck, gently smoothing the tiny hairs and setting up a delicious friction. He could smell her scent, slightly heightened from her desire, enough to make him groan with need. She was so close, so willing. All he had to do was surrender. If he gave up the fight, she would be his. If only it was in his nature.
He was obviously struggling against his own emotions; she could feel the tension in his tightly held posture. He was shaking ever so slightly, clearly at odds with his normal composure. Knowing that it was now or never, Hermione stood on tip toes, gently kissing her way down his cheek, along the sweep of his jaw to rest a sweet longing kiss on his soft lips. He moaned, never opening his eyes, and pulled her to him. Gathering her as close as he could, he deepened the kiss, possessing her mouth with all the repressed passion of several months. The taste of her, the return of his feelings, the scent of their obvious arousal, cleared all conscious thought from his mind. He was decided. For now at least, he had to possess her. She was his for the taking and, Merlin help him, he was most definitely hers.
The path to the bedroom was only a momentary interruption, which allowed him to gaze with lust at the length of her legs as she led him toward her room. She turned inside the door, and clasping his hands in hers, moved backwards across the room, capturing him with her eyes, with the love and desire which caged all negative thoughts he may have been harbouring on the sanity of their actions. He followed her, led like a small child, all need to run stilled.
A step away from the bed, Hermione tugged at the hem of her tee shirt, drawing it over her head to the accompanied hiss of the indrawn breath of her lover. Eyes dark as obsidian glittered in the moonlight as he took his fill of the sight of her. For so long he had been denied this. For so long he had had to manage on the memory of her form. Hands moving automatically, he hastily pulled at his buttons, quickly unfastening and dropping the heavy fabric of his clothes to the bedroom floor, all barriers between them now removed. He reached for her, only to be drawn by her soft hands, onto the bed beside her.
Sorry for the long wait and the unfortunate cliffie. I promise this will be resolved asap, with a suitable citrus flavouring for all concerned.
Many thanks go to my marvellous beta- twinkle, twinkle Kellye.
Like Snape, I hate to grovel..so please leave a review.
The breath that Hermione was unaware she was holding rushed noisily from her lungs, breaking the utter silence of the room, but not the uneasy tension. She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms and find comfort and reassurance, but he was still glaring at her warily, no more receptive than before his declaration.
"Severus?" she whispered, taking a minute step toward him, hoping he would see her need.
"Miss Granger!" he hissed in warning, "I seem to remember saying that this is against my conscious will." Her eyes widened at his tone and then glazed with the tears she valiantly struggled to hold back. His glare softened slightly as he saw the shocked tears. "I need time Hermione," he added in a slightly softer tone, hoping to stop the floods of weeping which were threatening.
Hermione nodded her understanding, although her heart still beat loudly and her hurt still crept around her, longing to be released. "Can we talk?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper, not knowing if she had the strength of body or soul to hold a conversation with him.
He nodded once, turning to sit back in the comfy chair he had recently vacated, crossing his long legs and composing himself. He gave no facial indication of his turmoil of feelings; the rush and tumble beneath the surface was glassed over by his stoic expression. Only his forefinger tapping on the chair arm showed any indication of his real state, but Hermione had noticed and it gave her a small measure of comfort to know that he was so affected.
She sat on the sofa opposite his chair, playing with the edge of her tee shirt and despartely trying to fill the silent void that had descended. She didn't know what to say; he had heard everything and still he had rejected her. He seemed to be waiting for her to talk first, and yet, even after running speeches and diatribes through her head for the last month, she had nothing to say to him of any value. They sat in silence and regarded each other, the tension of expectation rising, until Severus stood suddenly causing Hermione to start.
"Do you have a chess set anywhere in this flat?" he drawled, scanning the shelves in case he had missed it. Hermione smiled weakly, appreciating his conciliatory gesture, and went to rummage in the drawer of a bureau in the corner of the room. Bringing the small set with her, she set it up on the coffee table, kneeling on the floor as she did so. Severus returned to his seat, pulling it closer to the mid-height table. The table was glass topped, and her current sitting position, on her knees, legs swept underneath her, had caused her tee shirt to ride up, showing rather more thigh than was usual for Hermione. Quickly checking that she was preoccupied setting up the chess pieces, he allowed his gaze to wander, drinking in the sight of her, his eyes travelling to where his hands itched to reach.
"Uh, ummm."
Severus, his concentration broken, looked up into her slightly amused expression. Quickly shielding the guilt from his eyes and arrogantly sweeping his errant hair back, he turned his attention to the chessboard, determined not to let himself be caught out staring at her again. Hermione tried to solve the problem by catching the hem of her tee shirt and pulling it down to trap it beneath her knees. A strangled gasp from Severus brought her attention to the fact that this course of action only served to bring her neckline dangerously close to being nearer her waist than her neck. Blushing, she released the hem, pulling the cloth up to cover her exposed chest. When she looked up at him he was staring, a pink stain covering his cheeks as he struggled to control himself.
"Sorry," she murmured, trying to keep the giggles from her voice and plainly failing. The potions master still looked slightly stunned, but he managed to nod and return his attention to the board.
In a flash of Slytherin cunning, she knew she had him at a disadvantage. He might protest loudly that he was not choosing this, but his brain had obviously not told his body of his plans. She knew force would not work. She had tried and failed in that respect, but she had never even thought of using her feminine wiles. In a life spent trying to prove that she was as academically gifted as any male or pure blood, she had repressed the feminine aspect of herself. Flirting was not something that came naturally to Hermione; she felt more at ease solving a problem with her intelligence, than with her curves.
A new challenge now presented itself. She had tonight; just this one night, where Severus was vulnerable to her, when she could use his desire to achieve an advantage. She might not be particularly good at chess, but she was learning from a master, and a Slytherin to boot.
The game progressed slowly, far too slowly for Severus' liking. At each and every turn he found himself having to concentrate on seeing this side of the glass, not allowing his vision to pass through it to the view underneath the table. She had shifted slightly, her legs curled to the side of her, still clearly visible whenever his control wavered. He brought his gaze up to her face and found her biting her bottom lip in silent contemplation of her possible next moves. Unguarded, innocent and utterly beautiful, he mused.
Had he known that she was biting her lip in order to prevent herself from giggling at the sudden shift in the potion master's mood, he would not have been pleased to say the least. It was working; she could see it in his eyes, a softening and a desire that showed exactly how much memory he retained of their earlier relationship. He was remembering their every caress, the feel of her skin and the scent of her. If someone knew him well enough to look for the signs, it was all reflected in his slightly glazed black eyes and the rapid tempo of his nervously beating forefinger.
He could not remember the last few moves of the game; she had distracted him to a point where he knew that it must have been a calculated move on her part. She was not playing chess. She was playing him! He realised that she had learned from her earlier mistakes and was leading him towards checkmate with his own blessing and somewhat eager participation.
"Checkmate, I believe Miss Granger," he said a few minutes later, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. His sudden realisation of his predicament had forced him to raise his game, bluffing his way out of her attack and quickly and mercilessly cutting down her defences.
Hermione smiled. It was the closest game they had yet played, and she felt it rather a draw in the circumstances. Gracefully rising from his seat, Severus proffered his hand to help her rise from her position on the floor.
"I believe that it is time for me to wake from this dreame, and for you to get some rest before tomorrow," he murmured, his velvet voice caressing her skin and making her legs feel weak.
Hermione pulled on Severus' hands to aid her getting upright, and found that standing put her shockingly inside his personal space. She kept her eyes on his hands, which were still holding hers, his thumb gently and absentmindedly rubbing across her knuckles. Where the tension had almost disappeared a few moments before, it had now returned to an almost unbearable pitch. She was so desperate not to rush him, not to scare him away when she was so close to the break through she longed for.
"Hermione. I have to go." His voice sounded dull, as if he had to struggle to produce the insincere words. "This is not a good idea."
"I know," she whispered, reaching one hand up to cup his cheek, running her hand up and into the hair at his nape. Standing on tiptoe she pulled him toward her, gently placing a chaste kiss upon the cheek her hand had just caressed. She gently moved back, her hand remaining around his neck, her fingers gently teasing the soft skin. " I know, but I can't help myself, my love."
He closed his eyes, clearly concentrating on the simple act of breathing, determined to regain some measure of self-control. It did not help that the loss of his vision allowed his other senses to come to the fore. He could feel her skin, the soft fingertips caressing his neck, gently smoothing the tiny hairs and setting up a delicious friction. He could smell her scent, slightly heightened from her desire, enough to make him groan with need. She was so close, so willing. All he had to do was surrender. If he gave up the fight, she would be his. If only it was in his nature.
He was obviously struggling against his own emotions; she could feel the tension in his tightly held posture. He was shaking ever so slightly, clearly at odds with his normal composure. Knowing that it was now or never, Hermione stood on tip toes, gently kissing her way down his cheek, along the sweep of his jaw to rest a sweet longing kiss on his soft lips. He moaned, never opening his eyes, and pulled her to him. Gathering her as close as he could, he deepened the kiss, possessing her mouth with all the repressed passion of several months. The taste of her, the return of his feelings, the scent of their obvious arousal, cleared all conscious thought from his mind. He was decided. For now at least, he had to possess her. She was his for the taking and, Merlin help him, he was most definitely hers.
The path to the bedroom was only a momentary interruption, which allowed him to gaze with lust at the length of her legs as she led him toward her room. She turned inside the door, and clasping his hands in hers, moved backwards across the room, capturing him with her eyes, with the love and desire which caged all negative thoughts he may have been harbouring on the sanity of their actions. He followed her, led like a small child, all need to run stilled.
A step away from the bed, Hermione tugged at the hem of her tee shirt, drawing it over her head to the accompanied hiss of the indrawn breath of her lover. Eyes dark as obsidian glittered in the moonlight as he took his fill of the sight of her. For so long he had been denied this. For so long he had had to manage on the memory of her form. Hands moving automatically, he hastily pulled at his buttons, quickly unfastening and dropping the heavy fabric of his clothes to the bedroom floor, all barriers between them now removed. He reached for her, only to be drawn by her soft hands, onto the bed beside her.