Heroes (Edit, Not Update)

Chapter 11 ~ Retiring

Artimus and Kreacher returned to the dungeon area, the sorcerer letting himself in and latching the door behind him with his wand, checking it. Apparently, his magic worked on inanimate objects in this world. He looked around the living room. Dahlia had retired and the flames in the fireplace burned low. The sorcerer looked down at Kreacher, whose ears were still flattened.

”I’m going to retire now, Kreacher. What will you do?” he asked the elf.

”Kreacher goes to his cupboard in the kitchens,” the elf replied, “and thinks about his poor service.”

Artimus shook his head as the elf winked out. At least he wouldn’t be injuring himself. He sighed and walked into the bedroom to find Dahlia fast asleep in the four-poster, her long hair fanned out around her. She was in a white sleeveless t-shirt and he imagined, panties. Her curves were quite appealing beneath the green silk sheets.

But it had been a long day for both of them, and he wasn’t comfortable enough for sex, or even motivated at this point. He did need Dahlia’s presence though. She was familiar in an otherwise unfamiliar world. A bit of home that he could find solace with.

He stripped down to his boxers and placed his clothing on the chair, quietly lifting the sheet, climbing into bed and laying down next to the sorceress, who instinctively shifted closer in her sleep. Artimus smiled as her broad nose pulsated as she breathed. Dahlia was self-conscious about its width and once had talked about “getting some work done” on both her nose and buttocks.

Artimus was horrified by even the idea of her surgically altering her features and curves, and quickly launched into “Oh no you don’t!” mode, although with a bit of finesse. Nothing set Dahlia off worse than being told what she could or could not do. He’d found out early that persuasion worked better than demands when it came to his lover.

”Dahlia, your ass is mostly muscle. There’s nothing a surgeon can do about that, and if something goes wrong, you can end up completely flat back there. Besides, it’s beautiful,” the sorcerer assured her, caressing the butt in question lasciviously.

So far, Dahlia hadn’t pursued the matter. The power of persuasion coupled with a few lusty bouts of rough and slightly raunchy appreciation of her assets had silenced her for the time being.

Sex was a visual act as well as a sensate one, and Artimus enjoyed seeing Dahlia’s ample attributes bounce about rhythmically whenever they engaged. It was the way it should be after all. Actually, he loved everything about Dahlia, from her broad nose to her full lips, to her hair that wouldn’t hold a curl to save her life, to her ample hips and ass that went on for days. As far as he was concerned, she was perfect. There was nothing flabby or loose about her either because she kept in shape by doing her Aikido exercises daily, focusing on keeping her fighting skills up to par.

Dahlia was like a lot of women, believing herself to be lacking when she was perfectly fine. A common mistake among the fairer sex. Most men hardly ever notice any physical imperfections in a woman they are sincerely attracted to, their focus usually on what they find most attractive rather than what isn’t.

They just weren’t that complicated.

Artimus pulled Dahlia into him, spooning around her firm, curvaceous body with a satisfied sigh. No matter where they were, wrapped up under silk sheets in a castle dungeon or sleeping by a campfire under the stars, the sorceress made everything feel right in his world.

That was also the way it should be.

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Severus entered his bedroom and watched as Hermione turned down the bed sheets in the familiar, intimate manner that he had come to deeply appreciate. His eyes rested on her, the curly, not quite so bushy brown hair, the intelligent brown eyes, her no-nonsense manner as she prepared their bed, and began to unbutton his robes.

”I was under the impression you might not wish to . . . keep me company tonight,” he said to the witch as his pale fingers moved down the front of his robes.

Hermione began removing her robes as well.

”And why would you think that?” she asked him, knowing exactly why.

The stunt he pulled with Kreacher.

”Because I had displeased you by assigning Kreacher to see to Mr. Rogue’s needs,” Severus replied, opening his robes and revealing his slender body, girded only in a pair of white briefs, black socks and boots.

After all these years, he still wore next to nothing under his billowing black robes as if he’d thrown aside for good all the ragged, oversized, mismatched Muggle clothing of his youth along with the heritage of his cruel father, donning only the garb of his greater inheritance, his true birthright.

Yes, Severus Snape was a half-blood . . . but his true inheritance was that of a Prince. Magic from his mother’s side and that was what he gravitated to the moment he joined the wizarding world proper.

The Headmaster hung his robes in the wardrobe, giving Hermione a view of his scarred back, the shiny raised marks he took for the sake of the Order. For the sake of them all.

Hermione answered him honestly as she parted her robes, revealing a simple pull over t-shirt, jeans and trainers. Her robes were just long enough to hide them. She liked to be comfortable when walking the Halls of Hogwarts.

”Well, I was less than pleased about it, Severus, but you were well within your rights to assign him. I might have still been angry about it except that the two of them seem to get along now after a rocky start,” she replied softly, watching as he sat down on a small wooden chair against the wall and removed his boots then socks.

”Yes, I was within my rights, although I must admit I was rather surprised to see they get on so well,” Snape replied, removing his briefs, his long, flaccid member falling into view, looking for all the world like a miniature elephant’s trunk.

Hermione smirked at him as she pulled her t-shirt over her head, revealing her simple cotton bra.

”And slightly disappointed, I imagine,” she added.

“Actually, no . . . I wasn’t,” Severus said, striding across the room and getting into bed, sliding over to the wall and leaving room for the witch, watching as she continued undressing. “It gave me a bit of information on the mettle of the sorcerer. How he reacts to conflict and hard situations. At least I know he is an adaptable individual who knows how to make the best out of a situation. Kreacher is a test for anyone. He managed to handle the situation . . . admirably.”

Hermione left her clothing on the small wooden chair to be collected by the elves. They needed cleaning, then pulled open one of the three dresser drawers, withdrew a long silk green nightgown with thin straps and slid it over her body. She turned to face Severus.

”Are you telling me Kreacher was a test?” she asked him, her hands on her hips.

“Of sorts,” Severus replied, his eyes resting on her rounded curves. “Despite his whining about what happened to his horse, it appears complaining is not Mr. Rogue’s natural inclination. He handles his problems himself rather than relies on others and has the ability to make a difficult situation bearable. Adaptability is a good trait.”

Hermione shook her head and entered the loo, used the facilities and brushed her teeth before returning, Severus holding up the sheets so she could slide into the four-poster bed beside him. She lay on her back looking up at the wizard, who looked down at her soberly.

”I never know what’s going on with you, Severus Snape,” Hermione said to him softly. “You seem to have a purpose to everything you do, and it’s rarely as diabolical as it seems to be in retrospect.”

Severus quirked his lip.

”But . . . I can be quite diabolical, Hermione,” he purred at her. “Take you for example, my delightful little Gryffindor. My motives in having the elves prepare that delectable bisque were entirely selfish. A light, delicious meal that would satisfy you, but not leave you feeling weighted down. In other words it left room for . . . my concept of ‘dessert.’”

”And what is on the ‘menu’ for desert tonight, Severus?” she asked him, trying not to grin..

The dark wizard’s eyes drifted down the silk sheets, then suddenly he ripped them away from Hermione’s body with a leer.

”My favorite. Hermione pie,” he hissed, diving in and locking his mouth to hers hungrily.

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A/N: Very sorry for the shortness of this chapter. I’m not feeling too well, but got out what I could. More soon. Thanks for reading. ***