(A/N: Chapter 1 had naughty-dream smut. Chapter 2 didn't have much in the way of smut. This chapter and the next, which will complete the story, have "real" smut, so if you somehow missed the warning in the summary, and the warning at the beginning of the story, here's one final warning; if you don't want to read "Hard R" SSHG smut, proceed no further!)
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It was slow and gentle- for a fraction of a second. Then it was as if a dam had burst somewhere deep inside him. For all that she'd instigated the kiss, he responded with such intensity that it was more like he was… trying to devour her than anything else. His hands, his mouth- they were everywhere; he tore himself away from her lips to lavish kisses on her temple, her jaw-line, her earlobe, her throat, trailing his lips across her skin just as he'd done in her dreams. One of his hands was plunged deep in her dark hair, supporting her head; his other arm wrapped itself around her body, crushing her to him with such frantic intensity that for a moment or two she actually had to struggle to breathe- realizing this he loosened his hold on her, if only marginally; but even as he did so his fingers, with what seemed to be a single, deft motion, found the clasp of her bra through the fabric of her chenille robe, and released it.
Hermione gave a tiny gasp of shock, and then his lips were on hers again; his mouth covering hers completely, his tongue seeking entry just as hers had moments earlier, when she'd stunned him with that very first kiss. He had denied her then- but she did not deny him now. She opened to him, reveling in how hot and wet and utterly intense it was; his desire for her, his need- she was swimming in it. She was dizzy with it. Or was that the fever? Bloody hell, what did it matter? It was bliss.
He was doing things with his hands… it occurred to her that perhaps she should be, as well. Hers were still fisted in his hair- it required a conscious act of will to unfist them. That done, she glided them down to his shoulders, gripped him there briefly, then ran them lightly down his back to his waist. She found where his shirt was tucked into his trousers- yanked it free- slid her hands beneath the fabric and then back up to his shoulders again, bunching the shirt as she went, enjoying the feel of his smooth, taut skin directly beneath her fingers.
Then she gave a shuddering gasp as he returned the favor- parting her robe and pushing up both the fabric of her nightshirt, and her loosened bra, all at once… and catching her newly liberated breasts in hands that were large, warm, and roughened from years of exposure to caustic potions ingredients.
"Oh my… God…" she exhaled, as he broke their kiss and lowered his head to pull first one pink-tipped nipple, and then the other, into his mouth. Her hands on his shoulders clenched into fists, her nails raking his skin, making him hiss; clench his jaw in reaction. Hermione arched her back with a ragged little cry, pushing her now aching breast farther into his mouth.
He broke the contact, gasping. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "Did I hurt you?"
It took her a moment to get her breathing back under control. "I'm… I'm alright," she managed at length. "It's… it's just… God, so intense."
He caught her face between his hands; dropped a kiss on her forehead. Then, looking suddenly thoughtful, he pressed a hand to the same spot- to each of her cheeks in turn. "Your fever's broken," he murmured, dipping his head down and to the side so that his lips were moving against her ear, making her shiver. "You must be exhausted. You should probably have something to eat and go to sleep."
"You're joking," she whispered, a small smile curving her lips, "you can't stop now; you said so."
"Do not underestimate me, Miss Granger. If I think it is in your best interest, I bloody well can and will."
She darted her tongue out, moistening her lips. "Then I must not be trying hard enough-" She tightened her legs, which had been locked about his waist all this time, still further, raising her hips, grinding them into his, making him groan again- "because I don't. want. to stop. And I can tell you don't either."
This was the truth- the evidence of his arousal was now pressed hard against her stomach- and it was enough to give her a moment's pause. It felt- sweet Merlin- enormous. What was she getting herself into here?
But it was too late for second thoughts… as she had just succeeded in pushing him right back over the edge of reason. His lips collided with hers again, and then, amazingly, he was pushing himself back and up, rising to his feet- holding her all the while, her legs still wrapped tight around him, his mouth still sealed to hers.
He broke the kiss, panting, in order to gasp out, "where's the bedroom?"
"Down the hall, second door to the left," Hermione said, and then buried her face under his chin, suddenly overcome by a wave of shyness. It wasn't that she wanted to stop- that was the last thing she wanted… it was just… more… feeling overwhelmed by the fact that he was carrying her, with incredible ease by the by, straight to the bed that had featured so… prominently in her dreams.
He shouldered open the door to her room and then they were tumbling together onto the cool softness of the bed; the sheets, pillows and down comforter all in disarray- it was a testament to just how unwell she'd been feeling lately that she had gone without making it today. Ordinarily it would have caused her acute embarrassment to have anyone see it in its disheveled state, but she was beyond caring at the moment. Besides which, chances were it was about to get a lot more disheveled, and quickly.
She landed on her back, he catching himself on his elbows so as to spare her the brunt of his weight. They were eye to eye again, and they stayed that way for a long time, just breathing hard and looking- drinking each other in.
"God, you're beautiful," he said finally, in a harsh, ragged voice. "You're too beautiful, Hermione. You don't understand… you can't… the things I've done… I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."
She reached up and caught his face in both her hands, fingers sliding into the jet-colored hair at his temples. "Don't," she whispered, "don't do that. It was war. You did what you had to do; we all did. You need to let it go."
He shuddered then; actually shuddered, his whole body, his hands tightening spasmodically on her shoulders. His eyes fell shut, but there was a deep crease between his brows that suggested that he was most assuredly not letting it go. She drew his face gently down to hers.
"I need you here with me," she whispered; "all of you. Please… Severus."
It was the first time she'd ever used his given name. He gave a long, shaky exhalation. Then, without opening his eyes or speaking another word, he allowed his lips to claim hers once more, and their near-frantic kissing resumed.
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He kissed his way slowly down her body, after helping her to shrug out of her robe and tossing it to the floor. Her nightshirt was still on, however- in actuality, it was an oversized men's tee-shirt in a violent shade of orange and bearing the Chudley Cannons Quidditch logo… it had been her most recent birthday gift from Ron. (The problem was, she didn't think he'd intended it as a nightshirt… any ire she might have felt toward him, however, due to the fact that he had either a) actually thought she took that size or b) forgotten her birthday until the last possible moment and then simply grabbed the nearest thing at hand had been mitigated by the fact that it was so soft and comfortable.) It had bunched about her waist when they'd fallen to the bed- Snape pushed it upward even as he moved his mouth downward, suckling at her breasts again until her nipples were rock-hard and nearly screaming with sensitivity; then planting warm kisses on her navel, each of her hips in turn- working his way steadily, relentlessly, down and down, toward- Merlin, it was almost exactly like her dreams.
Except that when his mouth finally reached the waistband of her panties, he stopped for a long moment, his breath coming in hot little bursts against her tummy… and then he laughed.
Really laughed, too- a genuine laugh such as she'd never heard him utter before.
Hermione pushed herself up on her elbows to look down at him, utterly perplexed. She had no idea what he found so funny, but if there was anything she hadn't expected at this juncture it was laugher. Heat rose to her cheeks; what on earth could be cause for such amusement down there? Whatever it was, it was bound to mean embarrassment for her. A virgin she may be, but she had heard- and read- enough about the act of love to know that men didn't usually crack up right in the middle of it.
"Merlin, Hermione," he said, once he'd regained control of himself, "you're… you're too much."
"I beg your pardon?" she asked, blushing more deeply still, struggling to hold on to her composure- what was wrong with her down there?
He looked up and met her eyes, still smiling. "Friday," he said.
It took Hermione a moment to process this- then she flopped backward again, hardly knowing whether to laugh or cry. Friday. She was wearing her day-of-the-week panties… oh good Lord. A tatty old chenille bathrobe, a sports-team jersey nightshirt, and lilac day-of-the-week panties. Could she possibly have attired herself in a less romantic or more humiliatingly juvenile fashion? She didn't think so. All that was missing were socks with little pom-poms at the heels. Was he going to pick up and leave now? She could hardly blame him if he did. He must be feeling as if he were about to boff a twelve-year-old… not a mature, intelligent and successful woman.
But he wasn't leaving. She could feel his finger slowly tracing the letters, as a matter of fact, spelling out the word; F-R-I-D-A-Y. "This is marvelous," he said, lips moving against the taut skin of her stomach. "Do you have the whole set? Never, ever wear them out of sequence, either, I suppose…"
Hermione groaned, raising her hands to cover her now flaming cheeks. She attempted to draw up her legs and roll onto her side- but he was having none of it.
"Oh no, you don't," he growled, grabbing her hips both-handed and pressing her back down, into the soft, yielding surface of the bed. (Talk about déjà vu… those naughty dreams she'd been having had possessed an almost clairvoyant quality, it seemed- what would that old bat Trelawney have said to that?) "You're not going anywhere. And there's no need to be ashamed. I was caught by surprise, that's all, but I think your choice of undergarments absolutely inspired. Since they are obviously causing you some embarrassment, however…" and in one swift, smooth motion he pulled them down over her hips, her thighs, her knees… down, and over, and off.
Hermione's whole body stiffened at this; she grabbed up fistfuls of the rumpled coverlet beneath her, her breaths piling up in a heady mix of nerves and anticipation.
His hands, when he parted her thighs, were gentle, but implacable. "You've no idea," he said quietly, pausing to drop a kiss high up on her inner thigh- "how very long-" he kissed the other now- "I've wanted to do this."
And then all capacity for rational thought escaped her, along with a great sobbing, shuddering exhalation, as his tongue flicked out to unerringly find that place- oh, sweet Merlin and Morgana, that PLACE- and her back was arching clear off the bed and it was almost too much sensation, it was washing over her like a tide, it was lifting her up and carrying her away, and- and-
Ahhhhhhhhhhh…
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"Teach… teach me… how to please you," she panted in the aftermath of the mind-blowing orgasm he'd bestowed upon her with his hands and mouth. It was several long moments later; they were lying face-to-face once more, in a jumble of limbs and twisted bedclothes, and Hermione was still fighting to get her breathing back under control. "I want…" she gulped another deep breath- "I want to learn."
A small smile curved his lips. "When do you not?" he asked, quietly amused. "Ever the student, you are."
Oh, God. Would there be no end to the embarrassment she caused herself tonight? She wanted to bury her face in her pillow… but forced herself to meet his dark eyes instead. "You must think me such a child," she choked out, verbalizing her worst fear at last.
"Hermione." His voice was an intense whisper, nearly… reverent. He brought up a hand to cup her cheek, smooth back a stray curl that had fallen over her temple, trace the fullness of her lips with his thumb. "I think you… a goddess. Besides which," he added a moment later, once he'd allowed those powerful words to sink in, "a genuine love of learning is not only an exemplary quality in the very young. I happen to find it attractive in people of all ages, most particularly when it relates directly to my own pleasure and is demonstrated by a beautiful, talented, and very… ah… naked witch in bed with me."
Almost against her will, she felt a smile breaking over her face… and then he was kissing her again, and she could taste herself on his lips, on his tongue, and God, it was erotic…
Then his hand was closing over hers, guiding it to a point low on his body, and she realized with a small start that somehow he'd got his pants undone because the next thing she knew, he was wrapping her fingers around-
"Oh… oh my," she whispered, her eyes suddenly wide and flying to meet his.
Merlin help her, it really was enormous.
And so warm.
She'd never seen one before, which probably explained why it had never featured in her dreams. The mind couldn't produce dreams about things it had no way of picturing. She'd never touched one, either, at least not skin-to-skin. Her previous erotic experience consisted entirely of snogging Viktor Krum, which had included some petting, but only through clothes, and a couple of desperately unenjoyable kisses-cum-wrestling matches with the brutish Cormac McLaggen, which had effectively put her off boys until… well, until now.
She was faintly amazed, when she thought about it, that boys… (no, make that men- must get into a more mature mindset now, must)… that men, all men, had these… well, these under their clothes. Even Harry and Ron, with whom she'd been best friends for so long, had been hiding these all the while. It was disconcerting for a moment, to say the least.
Then a little "ohhhh" of a sigh escaped her, as his hand, still wrapped tightly around her own, began to move; showing her how to stroke it up and down, base to tip. If anything she thought- (good Lord, was that possible?)- that it grew further under these ministrations. There was a ragged hitch in his breath now, and his eyes were scrunched tightly shut, a look almost of pain on his face, that worried her a little.
"Am I… erm… am I doing okay?" she whispered, a note of anxiety hovering about the question.
"Bloody hell, Hermione," he rasped in return, "you're doing better than okay." He drew in a shuddering breath through clenched teeth. "In fact," he continued, "I don't think I can… hold out much longer… unless you… stop." And he pulled her hand gently but firmly away.
An instant later he had shifted her onto her back once more and rolled between her thighs, catching them in his warm hands and pushing them far apart and slightly up. Hermione had never felt so exposed in her life. She probably could not have tolerated it had not he been looking at her with an expression on his usually guarded face that suggested, every bit as articulately as any words could have, that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. And then she looked down the length of her body, and saw… it… clearly at last. She blushed right down to the roots of her hair and gave an involuntary little shiver of anticipation. "Um," she whispered, swallowing hard, "are you… quite sure that's going to fit? All of it?"
He graced her with a rather roguish half-smile that suited his slightly weathered features. "I am confident that it will be a perfect fit," he said quietly, "but if you want to stop now, Hermione, just say the word. I promise I will understand and respect that decision."
"No," she breathed, "I've wanted to be yours for a long time, Severus. Make me yours. Please?"
He lowered himself over her until only a matter of inches separated their faces; stroked her hair back with one hand and then left it there, solid and comforting against the side of her face.
"I suppose that can be arranged," he said, "since you asked so nicely."
She was acutely aware of the hot, hard length of him now pressed, skin to skin, high up between her thighs. Then he shifted a little and she felt the tip of it align with her body, with her… entrance. She gasped and bit her lip.
"This is your first time." It wasn't a question. She nodded, just barely, not breaking eye-contact.
She wondered fleetingly if he would mock her, as any of her friends undoubtedly would have, had they known she was a twenty-two-year-old virgin. But he didn't. He merely lowered his face still further, until their noses nearly touched again, until his inky hair fell down around her and brushed her face, causing her to reach up absentmindedly and tuck it behind his ears, and murmured, his voice and eyes intent, "you're positive you want to give this gift to me?"
Again she nodded. And gently, gently, he began to rock his hips.
Her breath caught in her throat, hitching as he nudged his way inside, his progress gradual, nothing overwhelming; half an inch out for every inch in, their eyes still locked on one another until he bumped up against something and stopped, his progress temporarily halted, as she gave an involuntary little "mmph" and squirmed a bit; trying to press herself further down into the bed, to escape the pressure that was suddenly and all at once much too intense.
There was no escaping it, though. He stayed motionless above her as she tried to adjust, tried to cope with the intrusion. Her breaths were coming quicker now; she squeezed her eyes shut, breaking that connection with him at last, and tossed her head from side to side. She felt him catch her face between his hands, and drop a kiss on her forehead.
"Hermione," he whispered, his lips moving against her skin.
She gulped in a deep breath. "Um?" she said. It seemed she had lost her capacity to form proper words. Monosyllabic sounds were the best she could manage under the circumstances.
"You feel amazing," he murmured.
"Is it… is…" frowning a little, she struggled to get her breathing under control. "Is this all there is, then? Are we… is this… it?"
She felt an explosion of breath against her forehead, where his lips still lingered, and realized with some chagrin that he'd just huffed a quick, silent laugh. "No, love," he said quietly, "there's more to it than this. Are you ready?"
She tensed a little. "I… I think so."
"Hey." He kissed her temple; her jaw-line; her nose. "This will be easier if you relax a bit. Stop thinking so much, and kiss me." His voice was hoarse, and brooked no argument. She obeyed him readily… at least, about the kissing part. As for the other- as if Hermione Granger was capable of turning off her mind. She could not just stop thinking with any more success than if she were to attempt to just stop breathing.
Still, though, several heartbeats later she was beginning to lose herself in the kiss- in his lips, his tongue, his hands still cupping her face, stroking her hair; his heat and masculinity and solid presence pinning her down to the bed. What on earth was there to be afraid of? She'd read that losing one's virginity was meant to be painful- even traumatic if one should choose the wrong partner. But nothing terrible had happened so far, and she hadn't chosen the wrong partner; she was sure of that, she felt it with every fiber of her being. This was the partner she wanted, craved, the partner she'd been saving herself for, all this time. This was, quite literally, a dream come true.
Then he gave a sudden swift, sure thrust, eradicating the barrier which had impeded him and driving himself home.
Her entire body stiffened in shock, and she tore her mouth away from his with a cry. Oh… God… ow… she hadn't been expecting that. She felt his arms snaking beneath her, between her back and the bed, wrapping all the way round her and then lifting, scooping her up until she was pressed against him with a nearly painful, breath-restricting intensity, almost as though he were trying to… absorb her somehow… just as he'd done earlier on the sofa.
Her own arms tightened convulsively around him too, and she buried her face in his neck. Hot tears had sprung to her eyes; she wondered if he could feel them against his skin. She was trembling now, from head to foot, though she was trying hard to stay as still as possible in order to minimize… to minimize what she was feeling. Because what she was feeling… Merlin help her, it was just too much.
They stayed that way for a long, long time. Several moments passed before he eased her back down on the bed, kissing and nuzzling her neck, her breasts, her face, kissing away the tears that had spilled over, streaking down her cheeks. The only sound, for what felt like an eternity, was the harsh gasps of their breathing.
And then the inevitable happened. Once she had managed to re-exert some semblance of control over herself physically, once her breathing was nearly, if not quite, back to normal, and the tears had stopped flowing, and she could feel her body beginning to adjust to his size and length within her… then finally, finally, Hermione's inquisitive nature took over once more.
"What…" her voice was little more than a croak. She stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. "What are we… are we meant to do now?"
She thought she felt him smile against her shoulder. "Now we move," he said simply. "When you're ready."
She bit her lip lightly, steeling herself for the possibility of renewed pain- and then, tentatively, just barely, she rocked her hips against his.
They both gasped. There was a little more pain, but only a little.
And beneath that pain was something else- she could sense it there. Something that wanted to surface, and that she could just intuitively tell would be oh, so good when it did. She rocked her hips again.
And again.
And then he was moving with her, they were in perfect sync, it was unbelievable how quickly it happened. He brought his lips back to hers and rasped out, "wrap your legs around me," before sealing his mouth to hers, plunging his tongue inside.
She did it, and cried out again, muffled, into his mouth. A moment ago she would not have believed it possible that he could have filled her any more deeply… but a moment ago she'd been mistaken. It was almost more than she could stand, the pressure of it, the fullness- but she kept with it anyway, pushing back against him now, hitching her legs higher still… and even the pain was a good pain now; it was all rolled together with that rapidly building something that she suddenly realized, with a faint shock of surprise, she recognized after all. It was pleasure. Just a new brand of pleasure she'd never experienced before. Even when he'd… when he'd brought her to climax before, with his hands and his mouth, it hadn't been like this- this exquisite sense of wholeness, of completion. This was… indescribable. But she liked it.
Oh Merlin, yes, she did.
She gave another exclamation, this time in surprise only, as in a single quick, fluid moment he reversed their positions, pulling her on top of him without ever leaving her body, his hands going to her hips to help her settle and to guide her into a new tempo, now that she was straddling him, her knees sinking deeply into the soft mattress on either side of his body.
He only needed to lead her for a moment; in this, as in most areas, she was an extraordinarily fast learner.
Then she was finding her stride, as it were; a steady, rocking rhythm that started slow but increased in speed as the wonderful new feeling low in her belly swelled in intensity, causing her to bite at her lip and moan deep in her throat- the ever present rational corner of her mind deeply shocked by the wanton sounds that were escaping her- and then even that prim little voice was silenced as, for the second time in so little time, great waves of sensation came crashing over her, one on top of another, almost too quickly to be borne… and she was crying out again and his hand was at the back of her neck, pulling her face down to his and pressing her lips to his own, and then he rolled her onto her back once more with that incredible easy strength of his, and with a few more quick, hard thrusts, emptied himself deep inside of her.
For Hermione, the room was spinning. She could feel the spreading warmth inside, and knew immediately, intuitively, what it was. Dizzily, drowsily, almost drunk on sensation, floating in a warm, soft, safe place as he stretched out beside her and pulled her into his arms, cradling her as if she were the most precious thing on earth, she thought, so this is what it feels like to be owned by a man.
The thought should have rankled her- really it should. Proud, strong, independent Hermione Granger, tireless abolitionist crusader for House Elf freedom, owned by anyone? It should have been downright intolerable.
And yet… it was all right, she realized, as he tenderly kissed her sweat-dampened brow. It really and truly and honestly was all right. In fact… in fact, it was better than just all right.
It was perfectly lovely to be owned by this man… because at that moment there was not a shred of a doubt in her mind that she owned him too.