AN: A long chapter! And one of my favourites. I hope you enjoy it, thanks to everyone who's reading/favouriting/commenting. It means so much xx
The song playing is Kick The Beam by Mover. I stole it from Teachers and it is a banger. It's also the chapter title.
7.
If you're ready to face some facts
A week later, Hecate is leaning against the wall of the gym, watching the students grinding against each other to what passes for music these days with pure disdain. Out of the corner of her eye she notices Severus circle back around the gym to her, pause at her side. Her gaze only moves to him when he leans against the wall beside her, brushing her arm with the side of his on the way- warmth against her bare skin. She tingles at the contact, and she's confused by how electric the moment is. He is usually more spatially aware around her. It's not that they never touch, but they have almost never touched without intent.
Hecate turns back to the dancing students and hands him a clear water bottle with a black pop-up lid. It's the kind of thing you'd normally see mounted on a bicycle, and it's totally incongruous with her. Severus eyes the proffered bottle suspiciously.
"You look dehydrated." She remarks drily. Feeling his eyes lingering on her, feeling the waves of scepticism rolling off him, Hecate turns, raises an eyebrow, and says "Trust me."
Inexplicably, Severus' first instinct has always been to trust her, so he obliges, and nearly chokes when the unexpected tang of gin and tonic hits his throat.
"You are full of surprises, Miss Hardbroom." He comments, lips twisting wryly.
"And here I thought I was entirely predictable." She says, trying to stop herself looking quite so pleased. He hands her back the bottle and she takes a liberal swig, silently relieved that all the students are far too preoccupied with each other to notice their strictest teachers smirking and sharing a water bottle.
But there's nothing meaningful in the action, she reasons, fidgeting with the black plastic lid absently. Nothing in it at all, to the casual observer. It's water. They work together. Hecate doesn't know why she has fallen down a rabbit hole about this. Something about his mouth occupying the same space as hers is tugging at the back of her mind. Probably because of the gin, she reasons.
Her colleague breaks her out of her reverie by murmuring "Is it time to smoke, yet?"
"God, yes." Hecate agrees, and the two of them set off for the women's loos on the second floor.
With no classes the hallways are empty. Hecate does not expect to be interrupted as they so often are when they take the time to dose themselves with nicotine, but still, Severus locks the door to the cubicle behind them. For the first time in her life, Hecate feels like a naughty schoolgirl. They smoke in these toilets every day of their working lives, but tonight the action feels rebellious. They're abrogating their responsibility, which isn't something either of them is wont to do.
Severus hands her a cigarette and lights it for her before lighting his own. "Always so chivalrous, Severus," she smiles.
"Only in certain company." He retorts, angling his face to the ceiling and blowing a long ribbon of smoke from between his lips. Some new and alarming gremlin in Hecate's brain wonders what smoke tastes like in his mouth rather than hers. She has no idea what's gotten into her.
She takes another drag and exhales it too quickly, using the opportunity to look away from him, to control the heat that's creeping up her neck. Severus takes the water bottle from her hand, takes another slug of G&T while looking at the line of her throat, the ring of violent red around the filter of her cigarette.
She folds her free arm over her ribs and rests the elbow of her right arm on her left wrist. He watches her thumb absently brush over her satin camisole. Severus' brain, usually so perfectly under his control, begins spitting unhelpful questions at him. What does it feel like against her skin, that black satin? What does the skin beneath it feel like? He looks at the slope of her shoulder, thinks of the nub of bone that rolls in its socket beneath her skin to move her arm. He thinks of the cells that form his work colleague – thinks of the fact that they've formed together in a particular pleasing way.
Her dark eyes find his again, and Severus Snape, the coldest bastard any student at Bristol South Comprehensive has ever had the misfortune of coming across, finds his lips bending in a smile. He likes how unevenly her lips curve, how the left side of them always lifts first. He doesn't remember the last time he noticed such an inconsequential detail about someone.
"Do you think they're running riot without us?" She asks, cocking her head wryly.
"I doubt our absence has been noticed." He replies, flicking ash into the toilet without looking away from her. Her smile balances, her face perfectly symmetrical, the curve of her bun visible above her head, like a rising moon.
Hecate is suddenly aware of her breathing, aware of the beat of the music pulsing through the floor. She thinks she can feel the heat of him, in this little toilet cubicle where they've spent many collective hours locked together in secret. She takes a slow, deliberate pull on her cigarette, feeling dopamine flood her body as the nicotine attaches to the receptors in her brain – a brain that's far too logical to have succumbed to an addiction like smoking, but did anyway.
Severus sets the water bottle on the battered cream cistern, and Hecate feels an urgent tug in her chest. She knows what's going to happen before either of them has moved. It's like she's watching the events before they unfold. Like a premonition. Before he's given himself permission to do it, Severus throws his half-smoked cigarette into the loo and reaches across the little cubicle for her, one hand on her cheek and one on her waist. The moment their lips meet Hecate lets herself admit how long she's wanted this to happen. She's tried not to, of course. It's been such a long time since she had a genuine ally at this school, someone to share the highlights and irritations of her days with. A friend. She's never wanted to compromise it, but Hecate's sleeping mind has betrayed her on numerous occasions, crafting dreams of her body wrapped around his. Hecate has never dwelled on this. She cannot control her dreams, but she can control her actions. Up until now she always has.
Hecate has hesitated where Severus has not, so she is still encumbered with her cigarette. It's in the hand furthest from the toilet, and she doesn't trust her coordination to throw it across them without causing an injury. She holds her right arm in the air so she doesn't set his hair on fire, but buries her left hand in the overlong tendrils of it.
Hecate feels as if every nerve in her body has been electrified. Her fingers are tingling so hard they almost itch. The cubicle suddenly feels overlarge, and Hecate cant's get close enough to him. But he pushes her half a step back and she hits the flimsy partition wall and remembers where they are. They aren't in the middle of a great open space, all alone. They're in a dirty loo with graffiti on the walls – half of which they've authored themselves.
Hecate doesn't recognise the little mewl of pleasure that escapes her, but she feels Severus' mouth quirk in response to it. He runs his hand from her cheek to her shoulder, over the slippery fabric of her camisole. He lets his thumb brush over the side of her breast and growls a little. When he presses himself more firmly against her, the wall of the cubicle shifts perilously. One of Severus' arms flies up and grabs the top of the partition. Hecate pulls back long enough to grin wickedly at him and stub out her cigarette on the wall. It falls to the floor and at last, Hecate has both hands free to explore his body. She tugs his tie down and unbuttons his top button more deftly than even she expected she could. She slips her fingers beneath his collar and feels the ridge of his collarbone, the cords of his throat. Music continues to thump below them. Hecate pulls the tails of his shirt from his trousers and lays her hand on skin that no one else in the building has the privilege of touching.
Taking it as permission, Severus begins to slip the camisole from beneath the waist of her sensible black pencil skirt. The very second his fingers find her cool alabaster skin, the door into the bathroom bangs against the wall.
"Told you it would be quiet up here!" Says the unmistakeable voice of Atrossitee Jenkins, accompanied, no doubt, by Brit Parson, both of whom have wheedled their way into the leavers' ball as dates of graduates – a loophole Bianca tried, and failed, to close, given local A&E admissions generally spike following the BSC leavers' ball.
Parson barks "Thank fuck, I'm about to piss meself."
Severus' fingers slither down from the top of the partition while he prays to the spirit of every great chemist he can think of – from the Curies to Dorothy Hodgkin – that Atrossitee hasn't noticed the action, or Hecate's still warm cigarette stub on the floor. He can feel Hecate holding her breath against him. He wonders how long she'll be able to keep it up. He's too afraid to meet her gaze, to read the realisation on her face, so he keeps his eyes on the fluorescent light above them. Were he to even glance at her, he would realise his evasion is futile – her eyes are clamped shut.
Hecate's mind is full. She has no idea what's possessed her to share her first kiss with Severus Snape in the least hygienic part of the school. She is not a woman who loses control like this. She's not a woman who compromises her professional life for passing personal whims like passion. Anger, yes. Passion, no. But her heart is hammering against her ribs, and her fingers, of their own volition, are curling into his waist, trying to keep him with her. God she wants to keep him with her, even if that has to be in a grimy loo at an underperforming comprehensive that she hates to the tips of her fingernails. She can tell that his throat is near her face, even though she can't bring herself to open her eyes. She can smell his skin so clearly – although how she can pick it out between the smoke and the ammonia and the overly floral air freshener, she can't say. Before just now, Hecate wouldn't have believed she knew the smell of his skin, but she's so aware of it she can feel the hairs on her arms prickling. She's afraid to move, but everything in her wants to press her lips to his jaw.
She listens to Atrossitee and Brit peeing and again, her mind is filled with how precisely this is not any of the many ways she has dreamed of kissing him. And then an unregulated part of Hecate's mind murmurs that it's better. Even though they're in the second floor loo and it stinks a bit and if she looked over his shoulder she'd see bubble writing that declares HB needs cock with a rather vivid permanent marker drawing of an ejaculating penis under it, kissing him is infinitely better in the flesh than it is in her head. Hecate braces herself for the moment he pulls back from her, fixes his tie, makes a remark about the heat of the moment or too much gin or some other excuse she can't yet predict. His fingers will leave the sliver of her skin he's exposed, hers will fall from his back and waist. They will straighten their clothes. If things are salvageable between them, he will light another cigarette and they will laugh the encounter off before going back down to resume their chaperoning duties. If not, he will flee as soon as the room is clear. Perhaps she will before he gets the chance to. Yes, that's a better plan. As long as she does it tactfully, she can escape first. Her clothes require less readjustment than his. It's best they're not seen leaving the bathroom together. These are easy excuses.
Having sorted all this through in her head, Hecate increases the pressure of her fingers on him. She doubts he'll notice the minute change, but he does, and he's glad she does it. Severus' mind has been whirring with what's happened between them. He's initiated this. If she regrets this, he is at fault. He may have ruined everything between them. Severus wants to move the hand that's beside her head on the wall of the cubicle back to her body, or drop his head to the curve of her neck, but he's afraid to move – both because of the risk of detection and the risk of rejection. He is acutely aware that whichever of their students has taken the cubicle next to them will see two sets of feet if they happen to look under the cubicle. Two sets of adult feet. He and Hecate are the only staff here. He's potentially about to be sacked from a school so underperforming he never would have dreamed of working in such a place, but his concern in this moment isn't career related. His concern is for her, for how this will impact them. Severus hasn't even contemplated letting someone in for years. Not until now. Not until he found this exceptional woman in this hateful school. She has become the highlight of his day. She is the only reason he manages to get up and come to this place each morning. What if he's ruined it?
In the silence of their non-breathing Severus can make out the lyrics of the song pulsing below them in the gym.
Come on, come on, could you ever be one in a million?
The question seems eerily pointed, given the situation he's found himself in.
The music is soon buried beneath a first, then a second toilet flushing. The two girls emerge, with Brit saying teasingly "Didja see the way Billy was lookin' at you down there? Reckon he wants a little something."
"Oi, piss off!" Is Atrossitee's retort. "He's gettin' more than enough."
The two girls exit, laughing and carrying on, and both Hecate and Severus remain perfectly still for what feels like ten minutes rather than ten seconds. Surprising even herself, Hecate frees a hand from beneath his shirt and brings his face back to hers.
Severus feels as though every cell in his body has exhaled with relief at her encouragement. Hecate relaxes once his mouth is back on hers and winds her arm around his neck.
Hecate feels like they've kissed for hours by the time their pace slows, but they've only been up here thirty-five minutes by her watch. He pecks her lips almost a dozen times before he begins to loosen his grip on her. Hecate leaves one of her hands on his face, tracing her thumb over the rise of his cheek. Severus meets her gaze for the first time since their lips touched and his whole world changed.
He always marvels at how dark her eyes are, but how warm at the same time. He knows his are cold; Hecate can manage it too, but right now her eyes are comforting, inviting. He doesn't realise it, but his lips have pulled into a smile just as fond as her gaze.
Before Hecate can change her mind, the words "Come home with me" are out of her mouth.
He hesitates, sees the withdrawal that his hesitation causes in her, kisses her again to repair the damage.
"Are you sure?" He asks her because he isn't. On one hand he absolutely is – he wants her enormously. He cares about her more than he meant to. The idea of waking up beside her pleases him more than it terrifies him. But he is still not sure. She is important to him. What if this ruins things between them? What if they want something different from the encounter? He doesn't want to do further damage to their friendship than he possibly has already.
But Hecate nods, albeit diffidently. If she's sure, then the only answer Severus is able to give is "Of course. How could I refuse you?" He bends to kiss her again, his chest swelling with the privilege of it. He is still terrified, but terror is no longer his driving force.
"We should make sure the students still have all their clothes on." Hecate says when they reluctantly part, her mouth deliciously full of the taste of him.
His forehead resting against hers, Severus replies "I suppose it reflects rather badly on us if there's a riot."
Hecate twists and pulls a length of toilet paper from the dispenser, handing it to him. Severus frowns at her, bewildered.
"Red is more my colour than yours," She smirks at him unabashedly, swiping her thumb over the corner of his lips and showing him the pigment on her finger.
She watches Severus' eyes widen, and he begins to wipe his face. She's a bit disappointed to see his face return to its normal pallor - she rather likes the physical evidence of their encounter smeared across his skin.
They slip out of the bathroom separately, Hecate taking a minute to reapply her lipstick before returning to the gym. To Hecate's amazement, neither of them smirks smugly at the other from across the room. Between the two of them they hand out sixteen detentions. Even though there's only one week of school left, none of the students is brave enough to argue the point with the school's two most formidable teachers.
Once they've had the misfortune of having to partially reset the gym, they make for the car park, once again leaving the gym and making their way separately. Severus finds her resting against the bonnet of her black Mazda MX-5. He is still amused by how closely the car mirrors her – sleek and dark and slightly feline.
Her back is to him, but she recognises his footsteps on the gravel behind her. Hecate is gazing out on the lights of the city, smoking contemplatively. He settles beside her, even though he knows it's foolish to loiter around their workplace together. Hecate passes him the cigarette with the same intuitive ease that guided a water bottle full of gin and tonic between them earlier.
He brushes her arm with his fingertips before pushing off her car. "We shouldn't linger here unnecessarily."
"No." She agrees, peeling away from him and slipping into the car. He tosses the butt away and slides into the passenger side. Hecate seems to relax immediately once she's in the vehicle, but Severus doubts anyone else who's ever been in a car with her would have the same reaction. She drives too fast, she overtakes across double lines, she cuts people off. Her reflexes are spectacular, though, so Severus settles into the journey, lets her exorcise whatever it is she fancies she can leave behind her speeding vehicle. He doesn't remember trusting someone as completely as he trusts her in this moment.
Hecate's house is on the other side of Bristol, in Henleaze. It's nicer than Severus expected; nicer than most of the places he looked at when he was moving here. It's bluestone with limestone features, a powder blue door. He can only tell the colour in the flash of the headlights.
The air is cooler when they slip out of the Mazda than it had been twenty minutes ago. Severus watches the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end while she unlocks the door. Alarmingly, he finds himself wondering whether there will come a day he feels sufficiently comfortable to lift his hand to the nape of her neck, soothe her goosebumps down with his thumb. The image of it flashes behind his eyes, her head turning to meet his lips with a mirthful smile. Severus is so busy taking note of his chest tweaking at the thought he doesn't notice himself drawing closer to her.
When Hecate turns her head to glance at him, she finds him near enough to kiss. He takes the opportunity, dipping his head to work his lips against hers. Without meaning to, Hecate lifts her hand and threads her fingers through his hair again. Mercifully, she has the foresight to push the door open with her free hand, to begin moving them inside the house and off the street.
"Drink?" Hecate asks, barely managing to separate her lips from his long enough to ask the question. Severus shakes his head while turning her by the hips to face him properly again.
"Good." She whispers, guiding them up the stairs to her bedroom. Hecate finds herself straddling him on the bed, and for the first time in minutes removes her hands from his body. A frown clouds Severus' features; he chases her lips with his, but Hecate sits straighter on his lap, moving out of reach. Severus concedes, turning his attention to her neck instead, settling his hands on the back of her ribs. He doesn't work out what's taken her fingers and lips away from him until he feels her hair whispering over his hands. Hecate is quite relived he's been so distracted by her throat, because her fingers are failing her. She's normally efficient letting her bun down, but tonight she's undone by the man beneath her. It takes her slightly over a minute to perform what is normally a nineteen second exercise. When she's done, she discards his tie and sets about removing his shirt, while Severus runs his hands and eyes over her hair hungrily. He'd never expected there to be so much of it. He moves to allow Hecate to push his shirt off and watches her face shift with a surprised smile. She runs her fingers over the inside of his left forearm, her touch feather light and intoxicating.
"You have a tattoo." She remarks, glancing up from a serpent wound through the mouth of a skull and forming an infinity symbol. The whole thing is rather more devil-may-care than Hecate has ever thought Severus to be.
"A relic of my misspent youth." Severus manages, even though it's becoming increasingly harder to summon words with her perched on his lap examining him like this. Hecate smiles wickedly, thinking of all the things she might be able to uncover about him if this goes where she thinks it might. Severus reaches out and curves his hand around her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. Giving into a wanton impulse, Hecate peels his palm from her face, extends his arm, and traces the snake on his skin with her tongue. Every rational thought vanishes from Severus' mind. A little growl escapes his throat and Severus shifts so he's flush against her, his hands gripping her hips.
With her hair falling over her pearl-white skin in the moonlight, she looks like the goddess for whom she was named.
Severus has never felt so lucky in his life. He intends to spend the night showing it.