This one gets lemony.
Day 10
The man made himself completely scarce for the next day and a half. She only saw him enter rooms as she was leaving them, and he was quite rude about ignoring anything she had to say. Hermione could only assume he'd regretted her moment of flirtation… if one could even call it that. At least he warmed the house back up, she mused.
She sat on the sofa around eight, reading and drinking wine, wearing little more than a threadbare mauve sweater. It hung off her right shoulder, reveal the fact of no bra, and it was just long enough to cover her knickers. Slouchy socks that reached her knees completed the ensemble. She knew the look was closer to 'desperation' than she cared to admit, but it wasn't like he would even see her, anyway, what with his bedroom-confinement and all.
Still. She brought out a second wine glass. Just in case.
An hour later, Hermione was buzzed out of her mind, half the bottle guzzled. She was about to toss the book, down some water, and get to bed… when the sofa shifted under her. She turned to see the professor looking a bit stiff, as far away as her as he could be while still sitting on the loveseat. He raised an eyebrow at the wine and she nodded. He poured himself a hefty glass.
She continued to read as he sipped, glancing from the side at him every so often. This close, she could smell him. All nutmeg and mossy oak and man. Gods. He was probably fucking delicious. The thought made her head spin- though that was also possibly due to the alcohol.
Finally, he spoke. "Flittanbone."
Hermione tilted her head toward him. "I beg your pardon?"
"Add crushed flittanbone root to a traditional headache potion. It enhances all the…" He sipped his wine. "...properties."
Hermione blinked. "Flittanbone, though, would neutralize the moonweed-"
"Not if you boil it first."
"Huh. Gods, I should've known that, shouldn't have I?"
"Flittanbone is a common enough ingredient in darker potions that it wouldn't have come up in your school curriculum due to the... politics of the day."
"Still, though." It wasn't like Hermione hadn't read a dark potions book or two. But she shook her head and smiled. "Well, thank you."
He lifted his wine, as though bidding her good fortune, and finished his last sip. She reached for the bottle and poured him another, all in silence.
Since he initiated the conversation, Hermione thought it wouldn't be terrible if she just… kept it up a bit. She angled her body so that she was facing him, her legs tucked under her, book forgotten on the sofa arm. "Do you have any plans? After… all this?" She waved a hand around them.
Snape gave a noncommittal shrug- the most informal gesture she'd ever seen him perform. Gods, he must be as tipsy as me. "All of my former properties have been de-bequeathed. I was considering staying at my grandmother's La Flotte cottage for a time."
"In France?"
He nodded.
"How nice." Hermione sipped her wine. "Sea salt wind and teal-trimmed village homes…" She sighed. "It sounds terribly romantic."
Instead of responding, he grabbed a family photo from the side table, fingering it in his long, lovely hands.
"Go on then," Hermione said with a smile.
He frowned. "I'm sorry?"
"You want to know what happened between me and Ron. You missed the whole shite show, after all."
Snape simply raised an eyebrow, placing the photo back on the table.
"He's an arse. No, that's not fair. But it is true. And what's true isn't always fair." Christ, was she babbling already?
Thankfully, Snape did not remark upon it. "Mr. Weasley did always seem far below your level of… intellect."
Hermione snorted. "Intellect wasn't the problem, not at first, anyhow. He seemed to think my level of appearance was far below his. Or, at least, that's what he threw back at me when I found him in bed with a woman nearly half his age." Hermione sighed. "She was beautiful, though. I'll give him that."
Snape cleared his throat, eyeing her bare thighs with barely concealed appreciation. "Mr. Weasley has never had a mind to value what he has."
"That's exactly what I said!" Hemione flicked her want and the bottle of whiskey in the kitchen floated to the coffee table. She filled both of their empty wine glasses. "No matter. It's over and done with. He's moved on to greener pastures and-" Hermione smiled, lifting her glass. "And so have I."
Snape froze, but he got over it quickly, clinking his wine glass to hers. They finished their drinks in silence. "Well, Ms. Granger." Snape placed his glass back down and made to get up.
"Oh, no, please don't go." Hermione stretched her legs out so that they were sprawled across his lap. "See, there. You're trapped."
"Ms. Granger." Snape lowered his hands to lift her legs, but decided to refrain from touching her at the last moment.
"Oh, fine." Hermione pulled her legs back towards herself. "Ruin my fun."
"And just what did you have in mind for 'fun' this evening?" He raised an eyebrow, his cheeks pink, his lips wine-red, and Hermione just couldn't help herself. She gave him a dazzling smile, one which seemed to slacken his jaw. And she climbed over him, so that she was now straddling him and his rather prominent erection.
Staring down at him, she winked. "I was thinking something like this?"
Snape looked the picture of cool, but Hermione noticed his breath had sped up just a touch. Also, the aforementioned erection right there. "I doubt the Wizengamot courts would approve of your current… proximity to me."
Hermione laughed. "Oh, I doubt they'd care. This whole thing is a formality, after all. We all know it's you." She placed her hands on his shoulders, gliding them down his chest. "I, for one, am quite glad you're back, Mr. Snape."
And then he kissed her. Hermione couldn't have been more shocked than if he'd slapped her with a bludger- he'd seemed so hesitant, even after she'd crawled in his lap! It took her about two seconds to get over it, however, and she eagerly moved her lips with his.
His kiss started slow, sweet, reverent. But Hermione was already nearly soaked. So she nudged her tongue in and kissed him as deeply as she could. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her down, gasping when her hot core ground on his length. He broke apart. "Gods." His voice was so raspy, it immediately sent a shiver down her back.
"Indeed," Hermione murmured, unbuttoning his pants. He stared, as though he couldn't quite believe what was happening. "Are you alright?" Hermione asked. She pulled out his cock and stroked it. The tip was already wet. "Is this alright?"
"Yes." It was just above a whisper. Snape's breath grew wild as he watched her slick her hand over him, again and again. "Fuck." He dropped his head back on the couch, but lifted it up quickly, like he needed to see it. To watch her.
"I'm ready," she whispered, letting go to pull her knickers to the side. "Alright?" She grabbed him and slid him inside in one motion. "Oh, my, god," she whispered, eyes rolling back. He was so long and thick, she was already more than halfway there.
But then he was so quiet, she thought something was wrong. But she looked right at him, at his black eyes and lusty, half-lidded gaze. "Please," he said.
She nodded and proceeded to ride him. Hard. "Oh," she said, groaning and squirming. "Oh, oh, oh, oh-"
Snape gave a shout and shivered under her, his cock pulsing. "Are you-" Hermione asked, but it was clear he was, and she slowed down enough to make his finish more comfortable. She leaned her face against his shoulder and realized, with dismay, that she'd hadn't even thought to tease this neck she'd been obsessed with for over a week now. She softly pressed her lips to him, right below his ear.
That had lasted, what? A minute? Hermione smiled against his skin. Well, it had been quite a bloody while for the poor bloke, hadn't it? They could always try for longer later.
She pulled her head back, her smile dropping when she saw that he was scowling at her. Lifting her up by the hips, he not-very-nicely placed her on the sofa and stood, buttoning up his trousers forcefully.
"Did I do something wrong?" Hermione asked. "It wasn't good for you?"
"It was a mistake," Snape hissed, his voice so sharp, she gasped. He gave her one last glare before stomping into his bedroom.
Hermione groaned. Snape turned back into a git and she was going to end the night orgasm-less? Whatever, she thought, standing up. She was far past the age to cry over the antics of lunatic men. Even if she regretted not having another longer ride on that glorious cock.
