This is in response to Challenge #15 on Livejournal's
30minutefic community,to write a pairing I would never normally write. I
wondered for days what to write, and who the protagonists should be, but then I
remembered a particularly cruel comment Snape makes to my OFC in 'Snape In
Love', and this sprang to mind. I took the full 30 minutes on this, and
completed it just in the time!
WARNING: this one is rated R.
Bewitched by Blackness
Hermione knew he was there, waiting for her. She could hear him breathing, even
above the crackling of the fire that warmed her room. She locked and warded the
door and walked over to the fireplace where she began slowly to strip off her
clothes. She knew that he liked to watch.
Soon she wore only her satin camisole and a thong, and she turned to where she
knew he sat, silently waiting for her. She smiled into the darkest recesses of
the room and murmured,
"Come here!"
He bled from the shadows, and at the sight of him she ran her tongue along her
teeth. He was blacker than black, in every way, and she never felt so wanton as
when he came to service her. She ran her hands over her breasts and shivered as
her nipples hardened into peaks. He sat at her feet on the soft fur rug and his
dark eyes held hers as her fingers slipped underneath her thong, pulling it
down and kicking it off. He leaned towards her and she knew that he could smell
her arousal. He had excellent olfactory skills. She supposed he had had years
of practice, after all. She stood with her legs splayed and he leaned further
into her, nuzzling her damp curls. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip,
pulling the camisole over her head, impatient now.
Still he made no sound, staring at her intently. She knelt before him and laid
her hand against his face.
"I've been wanting this all day," she said. He drew back his mouth in an
approximation of a smile, the closest he ever got to one, and she laughed
softly. She looked down to see his huge erection poking from the blackness
between his legs, and she shivered, wet heat pooling between her thighs. He got
to his feet, eager for her as she was for him, so she turned her back on him
and crouched over on the rug. "Now!" she urged.
He needed no further invitation. In a flash he was on her, straddling her,
close to her between her legs as he thrust into her, without ceremony, without
any need for gentleness for she had none, she had only pure animal lust
coursing through her veins, a passion that had increased with each of their
encounters and which was fast becoming an addiction., for surely no-one else
had ever made love in such a way as this.
He did not take long, he never did. Sometimes she wished that he would take his
time, and allow her longer to enjoy the sensation of him thrusting inside her,
but she knew that such consideration was not in his nature. She heard a low
growl as he spurted into her, once, twice, three times, and then he withdrew
and she fell forward on to the rug, rolling over to clutch at his hair with her
hands and draw his face close to hers.
"Now what are you going to do for me?" she asked, slightly out of breath.
He never needed telling twice, she thought as she spread her legs and welcomed
him. He nuzzled at her curls once more, his panting growing heavier, and began
to lap at her wet folds, drinking her juices mingled with the salt taste of his
own. As his tongue tantalised her most sensitive places and his teeth began to
nip gently at her labia, she felt tension build, ever stronger, and she began
to moan in ecstasy as he brought her unerringly to climax. She heard his animal
growl once more and then she was coming and in her bliss she screamed out his name,
"Oh, gods! Oh, yes! Yes! Padfoot!"
**************************
Yes, yes, I know. Horrible, isn't it? Certainly both the implied and actual
pairings are ones I would never dream of writing, given the choice!
Sorry, folks!
And the inspiration for this came from this cruel comment by Snape; "Are four
legs better than two?" In this case, yes!