Author's Note
Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!
On an exciting personal note, I just got a job in Italy, so I will be permanently moving from the States! That said, please be patient if updates aren't as frequent over the next couple months. It'll take a lot of time to pack/move/prep/adjust, but I swear this story will get completed. Oh, and if you have any advice about being an expat, I'd gladly welcome it :) I've always wanted to move to Europe, but I'm still a little nervous about actually doing it…
I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.
Ch 15: Solace in a Kiss
"I don't think I'll be back at Hogwarts next year," Hermione announced cautiously, reading Snape's reaction.
Harry had spent the entirety of Charms that morning telling her and Ron all about the memory he'd finally obtained from Slughorn, and what Dumbledore thought of it. Frankly, Hermione was terrified of what it meant. Even more so than when Snape had first found the reference to what a Horcrux was. To imagine seven was…colossally horrific. They needed a whole new definition to define how bad and overwhelming the task before them was. Particularly in light of what she knew about Dumbledore's declining health and upcoming demise. Without him around, it would all fall on Harry to complete. Harry, Ron, and her that is. There was no way they'd let him do it all alone. They were a team. Always.
Hermione strongly suspected that they were going to have to sneak about the British Isles to find them – Voldemort wasn't likely to take kindly to them destroying bits of his soul, nor would he take that sort of thing lying down – though Hermione didn't think the fact had registered with Harry yet. Of course he didn't know he wouldn't have Dumbledore's backing anymore the way she did.
Hopefully Dumbledore was giving him a good idea of where to find the Horcruxes. She didn't like to think what they'd do if he wasn't. Except…except if he already knew where they were, why wasn't he just destroying them himself?
The sudden thought set off a chain reaction in her mind. They really were going to have to comb through the wizarding world. At least if they were doing that, she'd not have to worry about where to go when term ended – considering she no longer had her parents' home as an option.
Oh Merlin, where would they stay during all of this?
The Burrow was out. It'd be too risky for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. They needed something private. Something they could take with them… Perhaps Mr. Weasley still had that old tent they'd used for the Quidditch World Cup. She'd have to ask him about it as soon as possible.
"I can practically see the gears turning beneath all the hair you've got," Snape muttered, tensing perceptibly.
"Hmm?" she hummed, too distracted to acknowledge his words.
"Hogwarts," he prompted, cutting into her thoughts.
"I won't be returning," she repeated.
He glanced at her briefly before focusing on the flames crackling in his fireplace. Their flickering shadows danced across his face and made his eyes glow orange, as though lit from within by the fires of hell.
They'd foregone working in the laboratory that evening, and instead were each reading respective books on the sofa. She'd debated bringing the topic up for close to an hour before she finally said something, and she only had then because he'd seemed to detect her distracted state and had begun darting glances at the pages she wasn't turning.
"No, I don't believe you will," he finally agreed, a hint of some unnamed, yet no less ominous emotion coloring his words.
"What are we going to do?" she asked quietly, worried about a number of complications her actions would cause for them.
Snape sighed but turned to her, apparently willing to have the conversation despite his reservations and previous reluctance to face the inevitable. Who would have guessed he was such a procrastinator?
"What we must."
"What does that even mean?" Hermione huffed, not appreciating his nonanswer.
"We'll figure it out," he stated shortly.
"How? I'm worried, and I really need a concrete plan right now," Hermione insisted.
There were times when she was convinced Snape was worse than Harry and Ron when it came to organizing and making contingency plans. Thanks to his spying, and the stress it put on him to always think on his feet, he rarely bothered with trying to prearrange anything, and simply relied on fast thinking and superior knowledge. What was the point when the carefully laid out plan would likely have to be rearranged regardless. But those were what she lived for. She hated, truly despised, the unexpected or being caught off guard. Too many times already this semester she'd found herself in situations she was unprepared to handle, or that left her feeling young and naive. Luckily, Snape had been there to guide her through the worst of it. Was it any wonder that she wanted him to do the same now?
"Putting off a difficult conversation won't make it any easier when we finally have it. Besides, we're nearly out of time. It's May now. There's less than two months left of the school year," she pressed, willing him to understand her position.
Snape snorted, familiar with her habit of scheduling every second of the day leading up to end of term exams after all his years of knowing her.
Hermione glared at him, flaying him with invisible daggers firing from her eyes. If he so much as opened his mouth to mock her for her desire to be prepared, she'd hit the man. She really would. Attempting to "wing" things left her anxious and frazzled – a state she'd rather avoid if at all possible, and there was nothing wrong with that.
"The last potion worked better than any of the others," he began tentatively, wisely deciding against ridiculing her.
He was right. Two weeks. Two weeks without any adverse side effects or hints of the spell activating. It hadn't even been bad when the spell finally had awoken after its extended sleep. Hermione had tried the successful brew over Easter Hols, and after a week of the spell lying dormant, Snape had taken a dose himself. The spell didn't activate within her until a few days ago, and it still hadn't within Snape.
They'd even continued to spend most evenings together, but not even consistent and prolonged proximity had triggered it.
"You think it will suppress it enough for us to arrange meetings when necessary?" she asked skeptically. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to hide that from Harry when she didn't even know what searching for Horcruxes would be like.
"Or when they are convenient."
"You honestly expect us to find times that are convenient for both of us next year when we could be in entirely different countries?" Hermione asked drolly, making it clear how unlikely she found his suggestion to be. "I'll just tell Harry I'm on a walkabout while we're avoiding Death Eaters, shall I?"
"I don't care what you tell Potter," Snape sneered, sounding suddenly defensive. Though he quickly schooled his expression when he noted her jaw hanging open in surprise at the fierce outburst.
What on earth was that about? She knew he hated Harry, but that was –
"It might be our only option," he continued, abruptly changing the subject before she had a chance to ask the questions spinning dizzily through her head. "I do intend to try and strengthen it further. Once a month would be far easier than twice, and I will continue trying to temporarily nullify the cramping once it activates to give each of us a larger window when needed."
"Any luck with the spell?"
Since she'd first seen him attempting to create a counterspell, he'd been trying almost nightly. There were stacks of parchments scattered over his desk covered in his distinctive miniature scrawl. He'd taken to filling scrolls with possibilities once he'd filled the margins of the book he'd been referencing to create it.
"Not yet," he sighed, pressing his fingertips hard against his brow.
"All right," she murmured her agreement, feeling strangely mournful at the idea of only seeing Snape once a month after getting used to spending hours a day together. And despite knowing how much easier it would be not needing to see each other at all the next year, she was secretly grateful he'd failed to make a counterspell.
"It is a matter of convenience and priority, Granger," he said sharply, understanding the reason for her quiet more than she'd anticipated.
"I know," she said, flushing deeply.
"Personal preferences and desires have no place in a war," he added meaningfully, making her breath catch. That hadn't sounded at all one sided. Did that mean he'd miss seeing her as much as she would?
Immediately, she shut the thought down, knowing better than to read into his words. It was as safe as dancing with a wasp in a locked room.
"I'm not arguing," she said flatly, swallowing back all of the "annoying" questions threatening to burst free.
"Yet your tone says so much," he said mildly, and one side of his lips quirked up. He was teasing her.
"As does your own," she countered, unable to resist calling him out.
"Touche," he allowed, inclining his head slightly.
Hermione felt her eyes widen. So he would miss being with her. When had his opinion of her changed? When had she gone from an unwanted nuisance to a…confidant and companion?
"How do you plan to alter the potion?" she asked suddenly, needing the distraction. If she made a huge deal of his honesty with her, she had no doubt he'd stop being honest at all.
"That book we were waiting on finally came in. I believe adding castor oil and a bit of ground Ashwinder shell should have the desired effect," he replied easily, seeming grateful for the slight change in topic.
"When will you try it?"
"As soon as the potion is ready. If you're inclined to stay longer tonight we could begin brewing now," he suggested, standing and holding out a hand to her. Gone were the days when he rushed her out as quickly as possible. Now, more often than not, he was the one inviting her to linger later.
"The boys are at Quidditch, so I have at least two hours before they notice and start looking for me," she replied, lying through her teeth. Their practice had started when she'd first gone to Snape but had to be close to finishing by now.
Luckily, Ginny and Lavender would probably provide adequate distractions to allow her absence to go undetected. At least she hoped they would, because she wasn't ready to go just yet. Part of her wanted to hoard all the time she could spend with Snape now that she knew it was finite.
It wasn't until her first class of the day when she began taking notes that she noticed the date.
The tenth of May.
Her mum's birthday.
Or it should have been her birthday. Would have, if not for the fact that she'd been killed.
Most of the time she could put the reality of her situation out of her mind. She rarely saw her parents, and in a typical year they never wrote more than once a month because they didn't wish to distract her from her studies – they knew how seriously she took them. So it wasn't unusual for her to go weeks at a time without thinking about them. But on days like this – significant days – she was reminded all over again of her acute loss.
She'd never see or speak to her mum again. She'd never send off another card with birthday wishes and self-flossing mints again.
The walls of the classroom started to close in, and Hermione found it difficult to breathe. The sound of Professor Vector's voice was muffled by the cotton cocooning her head. And when the bell sounded at the end of the class period, Hermione left on autopilot, traveling through the halls like a pre-programmed robot.
The rest of her classes passed in a blur with absolutely no participation on her part. None of it mattered, and Hermione couldn't bring herself to care.
She just wanted the day to end. Wished for some way to stop thinking about it all. To –
Snape.
He'd just left the Great Hall. She latched onto the name, clinging to it like a life preserver, abandoning her own plate of half-picked over supper in favor of seeking his company. Conversation, brewing, something. She'd take anything right then so long as it got her out of her own head and helped her forget.
Too many Slytherins were about in the halls, so she snuck into his office, the wards recognizing her, and Flooed to his rooms.
Stepping unexpectedly out of his fireplace at that time of night earned her a single raised eyebrow – a silent demand for her to explain herself. Particularly in light of her accessing his Floo, which she hadn't done since the morning Ron was poisoned.
"Snape, I…please," she stuttered nervously, moving to press her hands flat against his chest.
Hermione had no idea how he'd respond to her plea. Or even what she was really asking for. He'd be perfectly within his right to refuse and send her away considering her tongue was suddenly refusing to form sufficient words of explanation. But then why did they need words at all? Surely a kiss would serve as a better distractor. They almost had before. Would he allow her to steal one now?
He'd made it clear early on that he wasn't entirely comfortable sleeping with her at all, and only was because of the spell. But lately, well… They were becoming friends of a sort, and friends helped each other when needed. Her need was undeniable – even if she couldn't explain.
Confusion crossed his face as he struggled to process what she was asking for. "Snape," she breathed, sliding one hand up to card through his unexpectedly soft hair and grasp the back of his head. It still surprised her how fine and silky the inky strands were even after indulging in touching them so many times before.
She was glad he no longer taught potions – the reason they had always looked so greasy in the past. He'd worn a protective potion to ward against any explosions his students might accidentally cause. That, in combination with the endless steam and fumes, had resulted in his appearance as a "slimy grease ball" as Sirius had once put it.
Hermione tugged on Snape's locks meaningfully, willing him to give in. To be tempted to forget all of his morals and unyielding rules. Just for one minute.
Only one.
What could it hurt?
A kiss. That's all she was daring to ask of him, but she wanted – no, needed – just a moment of peace. A single second of freedom from her damning thoughts.
He inhaled sharply, turning rigid in an instant. "Granger, the potion," he reminded, looking troubled as he added, "I know it hasn't worn off yet."
The reminder was a douse of cold water. It loosened her tongue and made it nimble enough to say, "Today is my mum's birthday. Or it was. I guess it isn't anymore because she…"
Understanding dawned on his face and one of his hands rose to cover hers, pressing it harder against his chest in a rare show of sympathy.
"There are lines we have not yet crossed," he said huskily, though his eyes hooded and his gaze flicked down to her mouth, recognizing what she desired from him.
"Please," she begged, leaning fully against him and needing him more than she ever had because of the spell. He was all she wanted. Only he could give her the surcease she craved. "Make me forget, please, Snape."
She almost never asked him for anything – a fact that probably surprised him. And that she did so now, seemed to call to him in an undeniable way.
Hermione rose up on her toes, closing the distance between their mouths to little more than an inch. She could feel the heat of his rapid breaths and smell the nutty caramel and ripe blackberry notes of the after dinner port he'd enjoyed as it fanned over her face. Then his mouth descended, breaching the final gap between their lips in a light, teasing caress. A fleeting touch. And another. Then his soft lips settled fully over hers.
Her fingers tightened in his hair, tangling and holding him to her, unwilling to relinquish his mouth now that it was finally claiming her own. Her head felt like it was suddenly full of helium, light enough to float away. The world spun, and Snape seemed to realize it, because suddenly his arms were around her, crushing her to him, anchoring her. He was her rock, tethering her to the world as a storm raged around them – no, it was within her.
It was the sort of kiss that tilted the world on its axis and when things came back into focus everything had shifted noticeably. The kind that was unforgettable, and all others would inevitably be measured against. There was nothing of the wet, sloppiness that Viktor Krum's kiss had slavored her with. Nor was it rough and selfish as Cormac McLaggen's kiss had been, bruising the tender flesh while he suffocated her.
Snape's kiss was intoxicating. Even with his hooked nose pressing deeply into her cheek. He poured himself into it, devouring her in the process. It made her feel alive. Desired. Needed. Cherished.
Their lips danced, soft brushes chased by brief moments of firmer pressure. Then the tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips and she instantly opened to him, allowing it into the cavern of her mouth to duel. He tasted exotic, with an edge of bitterness. Sharp spices and darkest chocolate. It was utterly apropos.
Snape savored her, sipping at her mouth like the finest of wines. It certainly felt like wine was involved, or some kind of spirits, because Hermione felt drunk on the man. Surrounded. Cocooned. Buffered from the harsh reality of her life.
Her nails lightly scraped his scalp, and the next thing she knew, he was lifting her up. Immediately, her legs wound around his waist as he gripped her hips and carried her into his bedroom, never disengaging his mouth as he went.
Abruptly, she was on her feet again, sliding provocatively down his body to stand unsteadily beside the bed. She gasped and panted as his mouth left hers to trail down the column of her neck, the sudden influx of oxygen making her dizzy after going several minutes with little to none. With Snape's mouth feasting on hers, she'd forgotten all about her need for the vital substance.
Fingers deftly unfastened the top few buttons of her shirt as his searing mouth traveled across her collar bone, the sharp edge sticking out and drawing his attention. The fabric around her shoulders was pushed back, and she shivered in the cool dungeon air. Then he stopped, distracted by the display of cleavage suddenly presented to him.
"Oh, what…?" she groaned, too dazed to process what he was doing.
Snape straightened, meeting her gaze boldly, an unfamiliar wicked gleam in his eyes as he nimbly unhooked her bra and answered, "Making you forget."
Hermione had no intention of not taking advantage of his willingness to go further. He was right. This was a line they'd not crossed before. They'd never been together just because they both wanted to. That they were doing so now felt significant. But she didn't have a chance to dwell or analyze it further because suddenly his lips were busy tracing the line of her bra strap as he eased it aside.
Her bra dangled in front of her belly and her shirt bunched at her elbows since it wasn't fully undone yet. Snape eyed her breasts hungrily for half a second, then his mouth found hers again and she was drowning.
Hands roamed, caressing and teasing. Hermione's hand caught hold of his length, slipping beneath the waistband of his trousers to stroke him until he groaned into her mouth and she swallowed the noise, savoring the heady rush that came with invoking a reaction in him. It was so arousing to know she was the reason his shaft had hardened to granite covered in fiery satin in mere seconds.
Her fist tugged gently on the crown, one finger tracing his slit, knowing what he liked, so it surprised her when his hand suddenly covered her's, retrieving it and squeezing it briefly before he shifted his hips away and wound her arm around his back.
What? Why had he stopped her?
Then his hands returned to exploring her curves. Oh. He was making this all about her. Making her forget by giving her pleasure. She'd have to properly thank him another time by returning the favor. Maybe after his next class with the first year Gryffindors she could –
"Ugh!" she gasped, feeling his teeth nip sharply at her pulse point, demanding her full attention. Had he noticed her mind wandering?
Vibrations danced over her skin as he chuckled and gingerly licked the spot. Then his mouth descended, kissing a leisurely path along the upper swells of her breasts.
"You fixate…," Hermione murmured, trailing off in embarrassment for nearly mentioning his somewhat fascination with that part of her anatomy.
"That is because they are exquisite," Snape announced candidly, using his hands to plump them up and showcase her breasts.
Hermione flushed at the blunt praise and sincerity of his admiration. Snape's declaration was unexpectedly genuine. They had never actually discussed if he found her body pleasing or actually desired her. Not that it mattered since they had to shag regardless. But it stunned her a bit to hear confirmation that a man appreciated more about her than just her mind. Feminine satisfaction coursed through her, and she realized that she was just vain and self-conscious enough to need to hear that affirmation. That it came from Snape, a man notorious for his high standards, made it all the more flattering.
"Oh," she stated dumbly, then gasped and repeated, "Oh!" when he nipped at the pebbled bud and lashed it several times with his scalding tongue.
"How eloquent you've become," Snape taunted, doing the same to her neglected nipple.
"It's a little difficult to think clearly when you're making my head spin," she admitted breathily, running her hands over his back and gripping his shoulders when he sucked harder on the sensitive peak.
With a wet pop, Snape released her nipple, reaching to pinch each between his fingertips, rolling them simultaneously as he asked, "Would you like me to stop?"
"No, but I wouldn't mind you putting your mouth somewhere else either," she remarked boldly without really thinking first.
"Oh? And where would that be?" he asked huskily, anticipation and encouragement radiating from him as he waited for her to answer.
If Hermione wasn't so lost to the sensations he was invoking in her, she probably wouldn't have been daring enough to answer. But Snape was a master at plucking her strings and drawing the most exquisite music from her body. She was lost in the sounds. The emotions. The sensations.
Velvet and satin. Perfectly warmed oil. Needing pressure from a Swedish massage. Sandalwood and spices. The lushness that Snape brought to their encounters surrounded her, invading her mind until it was consumed in hedonistic pleasure.
Her eyelids fluttered as he continued tugging and pinching her nipples, and with a moan, she breathed, "Between my legs."
"Hmm," he hummed, sucking the right peak into his mouth as he acknowledged her words, but made no move to do so immediately. "Tell me what you need. What you want," he ordered smoothly, the words thick and rich as syrup.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione boldly said, "Tongue my clit, Snape."
Heat bloomed in her face at making such a demand, but from the way his pupils dilated, he must have appreciated her bluntness.
"If that is what you desire," he conceded, lips twitching in amusement and willing deviance.
Ordinarily she let him do anything he wished to her. He knew so much more, and she was still learning what she liked and wanted. She also recognized that he enjoyed that role and that she welcomed the break from having to think and dictate to others what they should be doing – the boys made her do plenty of that already. So it made her wonder if he was conceding to her now as a way of distracting her as he promised or if he wanted her to speak up more and ask for things. She'd have to considering trying –
Snape dropped a kiss just below her navel, her shirt finally having been fully unbuttoned. The press of his mouth had been so light and teasing that her eyes rolled helplessly in pleasure. Hermione shrugged out of her shirt and bra while Snape's lips ghosted along her hip bones, tickling her until she shivered and trembled. It barely registered when her pants pooled at her feet and he guided her to step out of them. She was far too focused on the phantom caresses beguiling her.
When the heat of his wet mouth finally settled against her clit, it was nearly scalding, and she jerked. Immediately, his hands moved to grip her hips, keeping her steady for his devoted attentions. He licked the little bud lazily, alternating between lapping with the pad of his tongue and using the tip to flick random patterns. All of the blood in her body had pooled between her legs and she felt her pulse pounding out at a rapid pace. Each pass of his skilled tongue evoked an extra throb and wrangled a strangled whimper from her.
Everything he did to her drove her a little more crazy, and she wove her fingers through his hair to ground her. When he noticed how unsteady her knees were – honestly, they were about to give out – he nudged her back until she collapsed into a boneless puddle of goo on the cool sheets. The contrast in temperature had her back arching and a rapid volley of signals lighting up in her head like a series of bright fireworks all going off at once.
Slowly, her focus returned to Snape and the way he was manipulating her body when he pumped one finger into her, curling it at the knuckle to deliberately stroke the inside of her channel even as his tongue danced over her clit and his mouth worshiped her. A second digit quickly joined the first, making her stomach clench and quiver.
She was putty for him to mold and shape at will. And he did. Expertly.
In seconds Hermione fisted the sheets, squeezing them as her whole body jerked and shook with an intensity that was mind blowing. Darkness blocked her vision, narrowing it to a single pinpoint, and when her eyes snapped shut a dull hazy of red remained. Champagne bubbles fizzed and burst in her veins, rushing through her in a surge after the cork was popped.
When her lids fluttered open again, needing a minute to recover before they did, it was to find Snape hovering over her, satisfaction and desire reflected back at her from the depths of his onyx gaze. His arms were caging her in, but after a moment, he shifted, bringing one hand up to cup her cheek tenderly.
Slowly, he entered her, sliding in one inch at a time, his passage aided by the remnants of her desire. Snape's movements were gentle. Unhurried. Languid.
He must have shed his clothes while she was recovering from the rush of bliss he'd gifted her with, and Hermione took advantage of his bare state to press kisses across his chest and hollow of his throat. Her fingers gripped his back, leveraging her hips up to meet his powerful thrusts.
"So good," she moaned, appreciating the twist he gave his hips at the end of each stroke, loving how it made his cock hit the sweetest spot inside her as he did.
One of Hermione's legs rose to wrap around his hips, her foot sliding up and down along the back of his thigh as he sank into her fully, the root of his shaft seated so deeply their pelvises pressed together enough to graze her still sensitive clit. Her nails bit into the muscles of his shoulders, bracing herself as his thickness stretched her sheath.
She held him tightly to her in fear the whole night was a dream that she'd wake from. He filled her every thought. Consuming her mind completely. Only his solid weight covering her body reassured her that they were really together and that it wasn't a fantasy.
"Granger," he groaned, a wealth of praise wrapped up in her name.
When their bodies locked together again he bent to kiss her. She tasted herself on his lips as the kiss deepened, musky and foreign. Their tongues moved in time with the joining of their hips. It was sinful and unexpectedly arousing.
Snape continued rocking slowly into her, making sure to grind against her and make sparks ignite within the little bundle of concentrated nerves. He eased slowly in and out, as if they had all night. And they did. Each stroke stirred the fire burning low in her belly, building it higher and higher. Fuel for a raging bonfire that would light the night sky for miles.
One of his hands found hers, and she thread her fingers through his, holding on tightly as the tension coiled within her again, preparing for another climax.
The kiss gradually shifted from lazy to passionate as they approached the pinnacle together. They rose on the wave, letting it carry them higher and higher before the crest came and they coasted to shore, gasping and panting, their hands still interlocked and sweat coating their bodies in a light sheen.
Awareness came gradually for Hermione. Her limbs were sluggish and heavy from probably the deepest, most restful sleep she'd had all term. Her joints felt loose and rubbery, not tense and sore from carrying her overstuffed bookbag around all the time.
It wasn't until the hardness pressed against the cleft of her bum registered that she realized she'd dozed off the night before and was still in bed with Snape. He was pressed firmly along her back, one arm draped over her middle.
Experimentally, Hermione scooted back, pushing her bum against his morning erection and rolling her hips to move along the length of it. The hand at her waist flexed, fingers stretching apart and pressing flat on her abdomen.
He was awake.
Biting her lip, Hermione reached back to grip him, her fingers stroking and tugging on his length a few times to entice and arouse him. His shaft was smooth and hard, her fist barely able to close around the thickness.
"Hhm," he hummed, rocking into her fist.
Carefully, she directed the tip towards her entrance and lifted her leg slightly. She was so wet at the thought of having him inside her again so soon. And again without the spell driving them.
Hermione guided him along her slit, spreading moisture from her entrance up to her clit. Snape's only response was to ease his hand up to cup her breast, two fingers snagging and pinching the bud of her nipple.
"Mmm," she moaned, brushing the bulbous head over her bundle of nerves a final time before easing him back to her opening.
Then he was inside her, rocking shallowly into her ready sheath. He slid in so easily. She was aching and needy for him, swollen and eager for his straining cock.
Bravely, Hermione reached a hand down to play with herself as he rolled his hips into her.
Her fingers worked over her clit, rubbing small, slow circles that made her breath catch and her body shutter. When everything happened a few months earlier, she'd not have thought she'd ever feel comfortable enough to touch herself or seek her own pleasure while being with Snape – hell, she'd never even masturbated because she'd been afraid of getting caught by her dormmates or parents. But Snape seemed to get a thrill out of it. It was easy to tell when he slid his free hand down to cover her own, directing her fingers to rub herself harder, their fingers threaded together working in tandem.
There'd been no discussion afterwards the night before, and he'd not complained or woke her when she nodded off. She wasn't even sure when she'd officially fallen asleep. He'd been stroking his hands over her leisurely, much as he was just then, occasionally dropping a kiss on her shoulder, neck or collar bone.
Hermione savored the way he was making her feel as sleep fell from her mind, an unneeded coat on an unexpectedly warm day.
Snape kept his pace slow as his hand drifted away from her center. He kept his touches light, soft strokes or teasing caresses all along her body. But he couldn't contain his moan of pleasure when her hand reached back to squeeze his bum. It was a move she rarely dared to make though she always wanted to. The globes were firm and round, and when she gripped him, he pressed deeper inside her, pausing briefly with their hips joined as close as possible.
Then she was cuming. Her orgasm was soft and rejuvenating, a cleansing spring rain. It bolstered her to face the day with a fresh outlook. A much needed reset after where she'd been mentally the day before.
After a few quicker strokes, he filled her with a pulse of warmth, finding his own release within the sanctuary of her body.
Afterwards, Hermione rolled to see Snape. He met her eyes then quickly averted his gaze. Hermione studied him, but he didn't look upset or regretful, just…uncertain.
"Not going to enter my mind?" she asked, having expected him to after all the times he had previously – particularly after any new development in their interactions.
"I was under the impression you found that rude," he stated mildly, his voice still gravely from sleep and the deep moans she'd elicited during their joining.
As if that ever stopped you before.
But she bit back her internal snarky reply, and settled for lightly commenting, "Oh, it is, and I do. But I also know you."
Not that she really minded when he invaded her privacy, not when it set him at ease and allowed them to avoid any misunderstanding when he was too reluctant just to ask her what he wanted to know. But this was a welcome change.
"You do?" he asked, mildly skeptical.
"You have questions that you're afraid to ask," she stated knowingly.
Was he afraid to know how she felt about what they'd just done? Probably. Probably, he was imagining that she'd transform into a swooning lovesick girl because he'd allowed them to have an emotional encounter that hadn't been strictly necessary. She knew it wasn't that. It had been about solace and empathy and the only comfort he was capable of providing. Right?
"Afraid," he sneered, disgruntled that she'd dare suggest he feel such a common emotion. Fear was beneath the great Severus Snape.
"Hmm," she hummed, content to let him stew over her assessment.
Hermione rolled out of bed, but leaned over to kiss Snape again, appreciating the new intimacy and freedom to take such a liberty at will. He caught hold of her waist, tugging her further atop his chest to deepen the kiss. As quickly as he'd done it, he released her and she left without another word.