Chapter Thirty-Five
WARNING: SMUT/LEMON/ADULT CONTENT/NSFW
When Severus Snape woke, he felt the fabric of his sleep pants tighten around his waist. He drank in the smell of cloves and cinnamon against him and let his eyes stay close for just a moment longer.
Charlotte shifted against him, and he stiffened. His eyes snapped open and swore.
"Sev?"
Her sleepy voice vibrated the skin against his throat, her head pressed into the hollow of his neck, her arms tangled around his torso.
Then I won't smell like you anymore.
Quickly, he slid from her grip.
"Go back to bed, Charlotte."
He watched her brow furrow as she leaned forward, and he pushed himself away from her until he felt himself falling from the bed.
Because I love you.
Another curse left his mouth as he detangled his legs from the sheets. He turned his back to her as he grabbed clothing from his drawer and fled the room with long, deliberate strides.
Safely in the bathroom, the wizard turned the tap to its coldest setting. Stripping, he cursed his obvious erection and thrust himself beneath the stream of icy water. His breaths left his mouth in ragged pants as his skin screamed from the sudden cold.
Because I love you.
He had set the water to a comfortable warmth, feeling her arms around his waist, her face pressed into his back. She had protested when he pulled the limbs from his body and turned to kiss her roughly. Even then, he thought, he had possessed her. It had only taken once, he recalled, for her to feel like every follicle of hair, every pore of her skin, belonged to him.
He'd waited until she was sighing beneath the stream of water and gathered up their discarded clothing to wash in the morning. He had fished out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt from his drawer and left them on the toilet seat. She'd been softly singing in the shower, the scent of his rosemary and peppermint shampoo permeating the steam-filled air.
She had, he thought, seemed so awake.
When she had finally descended the stairs, still toweling her hair, and drowning his clothes, he thought he would lose his resolve and drag her back to his bedroom. He wanted to hear his name moaned from her mouth again, feel her nails biting into his skin.
Instead, he had poured her a glass of whiskey and she had carefully arranged herself into his lap, her lips at his throat. They had stayed up for no longer than another hour, murmuring confessions in the dark until her voice had grown slurred and chopped. She'd drifted to sleep, and not long after, he had felt his head dropping back into his own slumber.
When he had woken, he'd found her curled on an armchair, drinking a cup of tea. He had wiped the sleep from his eyes and moved to touch her, until he noticed the air between them had changed.
In the moments before he'd fallen to sleep, he could feel the heat of her thoughts. Under the influence of liquor, Charlotte had never been able to keep hold of her occlumency. It had become one of the rare reasons she indulged in alcohol during the war. Unbridled, her thoughts had invaded his mind until he could feel her recalling the way his length had filled her, the way his face had looked when he had ordered her to come.
Instead, the air had hovered coldly between them. His brow had furrowed, and she had smiled at him.
Sorry, if I bothered you last night.
He had wondered if she could see the subtle change in his face, as he had felt his smile melting from his lips.
Rather than questioning her, he had opted to salvage his pride. He had excused his own behavior and watched as her hands fanned out and shooed away his apologizes.
Forget it, Sev. Do you want some tea?
For several days, he had allowed her to sleep on his sofa. He had lain awake in his bed and drunk in the smell of her nauseating perfume that penetrated his pillows and recalled each centimeter of her body as it had lain beneath him.
Perhaps it had been wrong of him, he thought.
When she had arranged for a room at the Leaky Cauldron, he had not protested her departure. Instead, he had sat on the sofa as he watched her grab a handful of floo and departed through the fireplace with promises to come for a drink that weekend.
Instead, it had been Albus Dumbledore to come see him.
The Ministry of Magic had caught wind of Charlotte staying at the Leaky Cauldron under several charms and a false name. They would be going there to arrest her and bring her forward on charges. Albus had offered him a raise at Hogwarts – spousal benefits – and a promise to have the Ministry of Magic drop their charges against Charlotte.
I do not think Azkaban is the best place for Charlotte, Severus.
Severus snorted.
Perhaps you may find comfort in one another. It is a dangerous thing, to leave her unattended. Think of it as a penance, Severus.
He let his head fall to press against the cool tiles of the bath wall.
Dumbledore, as he was prone to being, had been correct. Following Black's arrest, he himself had witnessed the turmoil. Charlotte had struggled to light her wand tip on several occasions, and he could no longer recall a time she had done magic more advanced than unlocking a door. Telling the Hogwarts Headmaster had seemed like retribution for his actions during the war.
Instead, Albus had indebted him to her.
Within a month, they had registered their marriage the Ministry of Magic on a cold day in December – two months after the end of the Dark Lord, and the death of the Potters.
Albus had offered to allow him an extended holiday. When he had suggested it to Charlotte, she had bristled at the thought.
Do you really think that's necessary?
It had been cold of him, he thought now, to say the words which had followed. But they had, for a time, been necessary for his own sanity. He could not live in a house with Charlotte Fraser and not want to feel his hands against her flesh, her lips at his throat. He did not want to hear her softly accented voice filtering through the walls when it wouldn't moan his name or whisper that she loved him again.
The idea of living in a house with Charlotte Fraser and being unable to live the dream he had permitted himself had been altogether too much to ask of him.
When I return home from Hogwarts, I expect to see no inclination that you lived in this house.
He hadn't wanted reminders of her.
This is not a marriage that will develop beyond our arrangement.
She had thought she was a bother to him, but he imagined he had become something akin to the same in her own eyes.
There will be no children. There will be no marital relations. I have no expectation of this from you.
She had asked him to forget it, he recalled.
His fists clenched again as he heard movement in the hall.
"Are you okay, Sev?"
"I'm fine," he snapped loudly above the shower's noise, "Go back to bed."
He heard the door open and stiffened.
"You're angry," her voice was a mumble, "I just want to know if I've done something."
The fists against the tiled wall smoothed as he felt his anger retreating.
It was foolish, wasn't it, to be so angered at something she – as Louisa had insisted – couldn't remember.
"No," he said finally, "You haven't done anything."
He didn't hear her move to leave.
"You can go."
"When I'm upset, you send an owl to Lou or Remus. I know you don't want Malfoy or Rookwood, so I suppose I am the next best thing."
He heard something slide against the bathroom wall.
"Charlotte," his voice sounded strained to his own ears, "I am fine."
"You're lying," she retorted.
"I'm showering."
"You've seen me naked loads of times, why are you special?"
Severus felt his eyes roll.
"And I've sat on the floor and can't get up."
A groan left his moan. Annoyed, he reached for a bottle of soap and began to scrub himself, listening to her soft hums battle with the shower's sounds. He took his time, hoping Rosier would arrive to drag the witch from the bathroom, until he recalled she had a patient early in the day and would not come until early afternoon.
When he poured a handful of shampoo into his hair and lathered it between his fingers, he heard her sigh beyond the shower curtain.
"I love that smell."
Then I won't smell like you anymore.
His hands fisted in his hair as he willed himself to remain silent.
He could imagine himself pulling back the curtain and pulling her under the stream of cold water, pressing his body against hers as her clothes became sodden. He could peel back the nightgown to touch his lips to the freckle above her breast and feel her fingers in his hair. His hands would reacclimate themselves to the contours of her thighs and affix themselves to the curve of her ass.
"You haven't been sleeping well."
Charlotte's voice shattered the images in his mind, and he felt his jaw clench.
Because I love you.
"Am I tossing around too much? I know I've been kicking a bit; my leg hurts a bit at night. Do you want me to move back into the other bedroom?"
"No."
His voice snapped from him before he could temper it.
"Then why won't you even touch me?"
He heard her mumble and chose to ignore her words. His head dipped beneath the icy water and he watched rivulets of suds drip to the scratched tub floor.
Outside the shower, he heard something shift. A sharp grunt left his wife's mouth, and he listened to the sound of her body struggling to rise.
"I'm nearly finished," he growled, "Wait a moment."
"It's fine," she panted between her words, "I won't bother you anymore."
Sorry, if I bothered you last night.
His hand abruptly pulled back the shower curtain, to see her hunched, her hands wrapped around the cane handle as she attempted to use her stronger left leg to push herself upright. The cane, as he suspected it would, slid across the slid tiled floor. Quickly, his hand shot out to grab her arm.
She promptly slipped back into him, her back crashing against his abdomen and pushing him backwards.
In a matter of moments, they were tangled on tub floor.
"This water is freezing," she shouted at him, "What on earth are you trying to freeze yourself for?"
Her body shifted until she hovered over him, her hands gripping the tub edge and she twisted the faucet until the frigid pounding of water elicited steam and warmed his icy skin.
Charlotte's hands attempted to right her soaking hair, her eyes glancing down to her sodden nightgown, and he felt her stiffen over him.
"You're naked."
Severus snorted, "Should I shower clothed?"
Her cheeks were pink when her bronze eyes met his, and his hand reached to push her soaked hair from her face. His legs gathered beneath them, and he slid his hands around her as he stood, pulling her upright.
"Can you get my cane?"
Her voice was a squeak, and he felt his lips pull in a grin.
"I've seen you naked loads of times," he murmured her earlier words back to her as he blocked the shower stream from her body, "What makes me so special?"
A fine color of crimson spread across her cheekbones.
Severus had felt his will break against her words.
Charlotte, he thought, had never bothered him. She could be naïve and ignorant, selfish and uncaring. She had the tendency to act rashly and say harsh words when she was angry or upset.
Louisa had argued that Charlotte could not even remember the evening that had kept him awake for months. She'd made logical points – Charlotte, he recalled, did have the tendency to only sing when she was particularly inebriated – and had never been callous enough to pretend something had not happened when it clearly had.
She could be heartless, he recalled. She had broken into his mind with venom that night in St. Mungo's, until his nose and ears had spewed blood, and had spoken venomous words to him after. He had, admittedly, deserved them.
His hands reached and settled against her blushing cheeks, his thumbs against the fine, delicate bone of her jaw.
Severus had wanted to burn in the hell of Charlotte Fraser for eternity.
He stepped forward until she was pressed against the tiled wall, her skin pebbling from its chill. He let a single hand slide down the soaked front of her silk nightgown to wrap around her right hip.
It wouldn't do, he thought, to have her falling over and cracking her head open.
"Severus," his name fell from her lips.
Hungrily, he descended upon her mouth.
She no longer tasted like smoky firewhiskey and clove cigarettes as his tongue entered the cavity of her mouth, stroking against hers. A soft moan left her throat, and he felt her fingers spread across the expanse of his chest.
His hand left her hip to wrap around the hem of her drenched nightgown, and he pulled it over her head. The blush across her cheeks had turned to a flush, and she looked up at him as he discarded it to the tub floor, her lips bruised.
"If you're doing this and all you're going to do is stop again," she began, and he leaned forward to silence her with his mouth.
His fingers hooked around the elastic of her panties and pulled them away to drop around her ankle as his lips dragged down her jaw to the hollow of her throat.
Charlotte's fingers wound into his hair as his tongue reached to flick against the freckle over her right breast. A shudder went through her body, and her back arched as his mouth attached to her nipple. His tongue circled the hardened bud, and his teeth dragged against her sensitive skin.
For months, he thought, he had stayed her advances. Each time, he watched her face fall and felt his own mind scream against him.
She was too uncertain, he had thought.
The possibility of her demise was too tangible.
Severus hadn't wanted to live in a world when he had taken her again and watched her slip between his fingers. Whether it be through death or another, he had not wanted to see her leave him again to his own thoughts.
But now, he thought as his teeth scraped against the hardened peak of her nipple, he would gladly suffer the hell of Charlotte Fraser.
If something came to take her from him, he reasoned, he would simply destroy it.
His hand dropped between them to slip between her folds and made deliberate, soft circles around her clit. She whimpered against him as he switched his attentions to the neglected nipple, and he felt her hands tighten into fists in his hair. When his finger broke away to slide into her, he felt the familiar clench of her muscles around the digit.
This time, when her breaths broke into soft cries, he did not stop. He pulled back to stare down at her, pressed between the tiled wall and his body, and watched her eyes grow lidded as her mouth panted. He slid another finger into her, and watched her hips rise to pull them deeper.
"Come," he murmured to her.
He felt her muscles tighten to a vice-grip around his fingers.
When her eyes lifted to look at him, he felt the muscles of his abdomen clench, and he reached his fingers to brush away the soaked locks of hair plastered to her cheeks.
Severus let his hands drop to wrap around the flesh of her thighs, and felt her arms encircle his neck when he lifted her. He adjusted his grip until she was securely caged between him and the wall and aligned his erection.
She let her head fall to his shoulder as his hips shifted and he buried his length into her.
Moans spilled from her to mingle with his own as his hips thrusted, her grip around his neck tightening. His hands tightened around the flesh of her thighs and his mouth attached to the hollow of her throat.
Her legs adjusted to pull him closer, and his thrusts grew rough and short. He felt the bite of her nails at his back and felt his lips pull back in a grin against her throat.
When he felt his pleasure climbing to crest, he adjusted his grip on her and slipped a hand between them. His thumb rubbed quick, deliberate circles around her clit, and he listened as her soft, throaty moans, shifted to harsh, panting cries.
"Come," he ordered between his own pants, "Come for me."
Her legs tightened around his hips and dragged him forward until his length was completely sheathed in her tightening, convulsing muscles. He felt her body tighten as she fell over the edge of her pleasure, her nails dragging across his shoulders. After a few hard thrusts, he felt himself spill his seed into her.
His legs shook as his face rested between her breasts.
When her legs loosened around him, he carefully let her slide from him and felt a groan leave his mouth as his length slipped from her. He kept her caged between his body and the tiled wall, his breaths leaving his throat in shuddering, soft gasps.
"You're bleeding," she mumbled, reaching to touch the stinging on his shoulders.
He pressed his mouth against hers.
When he pulled away, she was smiling. Her cheeks were flushed, and her legs trembled, but her arms slipped around his wet waist and she pressed her face into his chest.
"I love you," she whispered against his skin.
A familiar clench in his stomach drew his hands up to smooth her plastered hair from her face.
"I know," he murmured back to her, tucking a plastered wave behind her ear, "I love you, too."
She shifted around him and his mouth opened to protest her departure, but she reappeared with a bottle.
"Can you wash my hair?"
A smile pulled at his lips and he cleared his throat. He bent to remove her dripping clothes from the bottle of the tub and returned to begin lathering his shampoo into her hair.
"I haven't had a shower in ages," she murmured as his fingers massaged her scalp.
He wiped a line of suds from her forehead and pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear, "We can remedy that."
They spent an hour longer beneath the chilling shower stream. He washed her from head to toe and silenced his protests when she turned to lather the soap against his skin. When he exited the tub, he turned to see her expectant hands waiting for him to lift her from it.
He wrapped a towel around her and lifted her against him.
"I can walk," she protested as he turned to leave the bathroom, "You don't need to carry me."
Severus snorted and tightened his hold on her, ignoring the chill to his skin as he carried her down the hall to their bedroom. He placed her on the bed and ordered her to remain still.
His eyes caught her in the mirror hung above the dresser. For a moment, he watched a blush spread across her cheeks and she hurriedly moved to tuck her sodden hair behind her ears. He watched his own reflection, the smirk pulling at his lips flirted with the idea of being a grin and attempted to pull it into a frown.
It was unyielding.
"I'm cold," she mumbled, and he returned to her.
Gently, he dressed her in a sweater and a pair of sweatpants before turning to dress himself.
"Do you have any work for today?"
He crossed the room to move across the bed until his body lay against hers, and felt her turn into him, her small hands spreading to circle his waist.
"No," he moved to press his lips to the crown of her wet hair, "I don't."
Later, when Rosier arrived, he could attend to the antiseptic and salves Poppy had requested for Hogwarts' hospital wing.
For now, Severus thought, he wanted to drink in the smell of his wife as she laid against him. He would let it erase the pungent odors of candied oranges in his memories. In the future, he wanted to recall her smelling like him with a rose-tinted blush against her cheeks, and her kiss-bruised lips pulled into a shy smile.
SEVERUS!
Her cold-blooded scream infiltrated his ears, and his fingers sprung back from her hair. He recalled the way the blood vessels of her eyes had split and filled the whites until her eyes had been a hellish creation of crimson and amber. He felt his breaths quicken, recalling the way they had stared up at him, unblinking as her face drained of color.
Tightening his arms around her, he felt her nuzzle into the flesh of his chest.
"I love you," she mumbled to him, and the muscles of his abdomen tightened.
He would destroy it, he thought, as he leaned his head down to bury his nose into her wet hair.
There was nothing that would take Charlotte Fraser from him.
He was too damned by her to live without her.
Author's Note: Okay. I am honestly going to say that I feel like this chapter didn't turn out well. Angst is definitely my genre, and spicy chapters are something I struggle with. THAT BEING SAID - We finally have had take off and a successful landing for Snarlie. Let me know what you think in the review section, and don't forget to include your Hogwarts House for your House Cup Points!
I'll be updating the House Cup later this week, but didn't want to delay this chapter to count reviews :)