Weekend with the Professor

Thanks to all for the lovely and kind reviews. This is my first fic, so I’m pleased to see I’m bringing something new to the pairing. I fully intended hot sex by the middle of chapter one, but as you can see our dear Professors have dragged me along for the ride. Hm, ride… :) I smell a hint of lemon, really, I do…

Chapter 2: Does it Really Matter Where?

They stumbled back to the castle in a haze of liquor and the occasional snog, arguing as they traveled about whose chambers would be most appropriate.

“My GOD,” moaned Hermione. Not only was Snape an excellent kisser, but the thing he was doing to her ear was absolutely incredible. They were sitting where they’d fallen by the lake, beside some bushes and a beech tree. He was murmuring things to her, tonguing her earlobe gently, and basically making her doubt they’d make it indoors to have a shag at all.

It’s a fan-bloody-tastic alternative to sitting at dinner in the Great Hall, thought Hermione fuzzily.

“Come with me to the dungeons,” whispered Snape, licking delicately along the rim of her ear. “Have another drink with me, Gra—,” he stuttered, and stopped. It had suddenly dawned on him whom he was propositioning, and it was more than a smidge awkward.

Hermione turned towards him and grabbed his hand firmly. Shoving it up her robes, she hissed at him. “Call me Hermione, and if you stop I won’t let you see these.”

The handful of Hermione, as Snape felt suddenly inclined to call her, provided a lovely mental picture for him. When was the last time you spent the weekend with a gorgeous pair of those, old boy? he asked himself.

“Hermione, then,” he replied. Snape reapplied himself with vigour to her neck and ear, which seemed to be Professor Granger’s hot buttons, he noted smugly. His unoccupied hand managed to join the other in a not-so-scholarly examination of Hermione’s bra and its front clasp. Snape popped it open easily and nearly lost his control.

If mundane things like necks and ears did it for Hermione, it was nothing compared to Snape’s fascination with nipples.

“Ahh, yes, Severus, as you were saying about your chambers?” Hermione found it odd to try and chat up a Slytherin beside the lake during dinner. Oh well, she thought, at least everyone’s stuffing their faces and can’t see us. She grinned as she thought of faces, and stuffing, and—

“As I was saying, perhaps you’d like a drink, hmmm?” Snape was pleased at Hermione’s squirmy response to his proposition, and he plundered her delicate neck again. Never mind liquor, at the moment she was making his blood fizz as pleasantly as any intoxicant. “How’d you like a little—FUCK!” he hissed in her ear.

Hermione yelped at the sudden change in his tone. Death Eater, remember that, he was a Death Eater, her mind garbled. Visions of racks, chains, whips, and other sundry sexual fetish items danced in her head like deranged sugarplums.

“Zabini!” Snape blurted, looking over Hermione’s shoulder. He was still high from the alcohol and kissing, and now his nerves sang an even higher pitch. The smallest Zabini cousin, a second-year Slytherin, stood on the other side of the bush. His little face bobbed up and down as he struggled to see who was behind the shrubbery. “Stay where you are,” commanded Snape. Hermione heard his teaching voice and sagged a bit, realizing there must be a student handy.

Snape drew himself up and addressed the second-year. “Mr. Zabini, is there something I can help you with?”

“Oh, yes, Professor, sir, Farley has a nosebleed and he can’t manage to stop it. I came looking for you,” he added nervously, “thinking it might need a counterjinx, sir?”

Snape sighed heavily. So it was the Slytherins again, making their usual trouble. He was quite sure the Zabini boy hadn’t seen Professor Granger (nor his hands up her robes) and he could quickly hand out a thousand detentions, if that’s what it took to keep the Slytherin common room quiet that evening. “Tell him I’ll be there in a second. Go quickly and tell him that,” ordered Snape.

“Yes, right away,” the boy replied, and scampered off.

“Dinner must be over, then,” whispered Hermione. Snape glanced down at her and gave her a tiny smile.

“Will you wait in my chambers for me? I won’t be a minute,” breathed Snape. He accompanied his words with a gentle twist to her nipples, and Hermione felt herself give a shudder. Her kiss told him she would, and they stood up. They made their way to the castle warily, the distance between their bodies crackling like a raging bonfire.

* * * * * *

He’d slapped her ass, not yet really sober, and pointed her towards the dungeons. Nox draconis, she remembered him whispering, and realized it must be the password to his chambers.

She stumbled her way down to the ornately carved arch she’d never been through and tapped the top-most gargoyle with her wand, recited the phrase, and fell in. Quite literally. Apparently Snape had a sense of humor as well as security—anyone that tried to rush into his chambers would find themselves flat on the frosty floor after hitting their shins squarely on the small step up that had been carved into the doorway.

“Damn him, and me horny as all hell.” Hermione picked herself up and tried to figure out if she had a bruise on her cheek now. “What I need is a drink… and a mirror,” she crowed, and bounced up and down a bit in satisfaction. Even smacking face-first onto Snape’s doorstep hasn’t been enough to erase those hot kisses from earlier. She quivered a bit and moved into the room, trying to decide where to find both of her desires.

* * * * * *

The whisky had been located near the fire, in a green-glass fronted cabinet (“Predictable,” Hermione snorted), and the mirror in his rather austere bathroom. Unlike her own, there were no toiletries to clutter the sink nor pile of towels in the corner awaiting the daily rounds of the house elves (whom she still felt guilty about). Just plain black marble as far as the eye could see. And a floor to ceiling mirror, too, that merited mentioning. I wonder if he… definitely, right after a bath.

Hermione leaned into the counter and tried to add up the drinks she’d had. Figuring was a bit hard at the moment considering she had a full bottle in one hand, and she decided to throw caution to the wind. Swigging heavily from the bottle, she swallowed the raw stuff down and sighed to feel it run through her. It stopped directly in the wetness between her legs to pool and spread.

Excellent.

She carefully set the bottle in the sink and looked at herself in the mirror. “God, I am rather good looking today aren’t I?” With the sweep of her hand, Hermione’s hair was pushed atop her head. She pouted, turned from side to side, and marveled at the way her own lips looked after the walk home. “Hmmm.” She tilted forward a bit, and let her cheek rest against the cool mirror. It was soothing her could-be bruise and making the rest of her body positively aflame simultaneously.

Also excellent.

* * * * * *

It was taking Snape for-ev-er to tend to his Slytherins, and the thought popped into Hermione’s head that being Head of House might be a bit more trouble than it was worth. But at the moment, she was sprawled out on her belly on Snape’s bed and it didn’t really worry her. She’d hauled the whisky with her and an issue of Mutability that she hadn’t read yet. It was fascinating and almost made her forget that she was waiting for the Potions Master to come back to his rooms.

“Enjoying yourself, Miss Granger?” Hermione nearly popped out of her skin. She hadn’t noticed Snape return to his chambers and approach her from behind. But that was no excuse not to entice him to join her. She rolled onto her back and pushed herself up tits first, stretching.

“Immes—immense-ly,” she purred. Why did I ever ask him to call me Hermione? That is so naughty, she thought. He chuckled, looking down at her.

“Do you think there’s room for me with all your reading material?” Snape loosened his collar and proceeded to unbutton his shirt from the bottom up. “And would you like a glass to drink from, my dear?” His eyebrow quirked again, and Hermione felt weightless on the bed.

“Join me?” She rolled onto her side and ran her hand up her hip in what she hoped was a sexy gesture. And so he did.

* * * * * *

It took a bit for Snape to catch back up with her. Truth be told, the sight of blood made him quite sober after all his Death Eater days. So he sipped whisky while they quizzed each other on elemental properties used in a particularly controversial potion from Mutability.

“Lead’s quite heavy, really,” Hermione said. She was running her hand over Snape’s bare chest. He’d settled against the headboard to sit with Hermione next to him, and the fact that he’d left his pants on frustrated the hell out of her. If his nipples weren’t hard enough to gouge a glass cauldron, she might have been insulted.

“And hard,” he murmured. The academic conversation was a little difficult when his brain wasn’t getting enough blood to function, so he finally found himself reduced to inanities like this.

“Hm?” Her hand slid down to the tab of his pants.

Snape hissed, drawing air in. She teased him with a few fumbles then grabbed for the bottle of whisky. “Let’s set this here, and—“ she broke off to lean over the nightstand, and swung her near leg over him.

Professor Granger is straddling me. Hermione, he corrected himself. I even have my pants still on. This is going to be a long weekend, he mused.

She flung her top off, tossing it in a corner, and settled down to weigh on Professor Snape’s groin. “Severus?”

“Yes?” Her breasts bobbed enticingly. He reached out, trance-like to touch what he had before. Seeing them was even better than feeling them up by the lake like some randy sixth-year.

“No, no,” she grinned, swatting his hand back. “Say my name.” He hesitated, and she reached down under the skirt she’d been wearing. He could smell her, and was that the most erotic thing he wasn’t exactly seeing? Was she really frigging herself atop him, smiling at him with those curving, pouting, delectable lips?

“Hermione, god,” he choked out, and she rewarded him, laughing, and leaning back and up slightly. He glimpsed the large wet spot on his pants made by her dripping center, and nearly lost it.

“Oh, you learn so fast,” she purred, and hiked her skirt further up her thighs to afford him a better look.

If she doesn’t kill me, Snape thought, I might be wrong. This might be the shortest weekend in the history of Hogwarts.

A/N: I truly apologize for being a tease, I’ve just realized this as I finish here that I haven’t… um… finished, here. But our professors aren’t in any rush, so I figure we shouldn’t be either. :) hugs, ernestine