A Rock and a Hard Place

I should be finishing another installment of "Hermione," but this story just begs to be written...

*

Something jostled Snape awake. It was roughly 45 minutes since they had crawled into bed. The woman beside him was tossing in her sleep, sighing and moaning. Her discomfort was obvious. Snape knew what must be done. Before the woman awoke fully, he probed between her thighs. She gave a soft cry as he touched the slick lips around her sex. He felt his cock come to life. Trying to ignore his own response, he pushed his finger as far as he could up her tight, soft, pulsing sheath and began to rub the walls of her passage. He felt her loll back against him, warm and pliant, murmuring things under her breath in a sleepy voice. Her sensuality took him by surprise, and his cock hardened completely, demanding attention and release. He felt disgusted by himself. Determined to bring her off quickly, he found her clitoris with his other hand and stroking it ruthlessly. In almost no time her legs were shamelessly spread in the air, she was moaning in loud breathy gasps, and her hips were bucking in orgasmic fervor.

“Oh!” She was fully awake now. By dawn’s pale light he saw her glance at him, eyes wide with fear and sadness. She flipped her dress down. After a tense second, she slid her hand down his front toward his cock, but he grabbed the hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m just—if you have to do it for me, I’ll—"

“That won’t be necessary,” he bit out.

She went white. Mumbling an apology she tumbled off the bed toward the bathroom. Snape heard her turn on the water in the tub. Good. She would have a soak, a bit of a cry, and come out and be reasonable. They would fuck like any normal pair of unwilling strangers—

The water seemed to be going for a long time. With a start, Snape jumped out of bed, grabbing his wand, and ran to the bathroom door. “Ms. Mills!” he barked in a tone that usually had even the seventh years diving for shelter.

Silence.

“Ms. Mills!”

More silence.

“Answer or the bloody door goes!”

Still no reply.

Fuck. “Evanesco!” he bellowed, jabbing his wand at the door. He’d get the door back later.

The Muggle was crouched over the tub. He ran forward and grabbed her dress, yanking her back. Something fell to the floor. His razor.

“What—in—bloody—hell—do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, at his most dangerous, into her downcast face.

She didn’t answer, just hung her head. He ran his hands quickly over her person. No injuries. He grabbed her wrists and turned them over. No cuts. He breathed a sigh of relief. Then he worked at mastering his own fear and anger. At last, he managed in a tight voice, “Not having to touch me can’t be such a loss. Why are you trying to cut your wrists with my razor?”

She wouldn’t meet his eye, and her voice came out thick and indistinct: “This Curse makes me…need you. But you don’t even like me. You can’t stand the thought of my touching you. I’m not blaming you. But...but...” Her voice dropped so he could scarcely hear it. “This is killing me. Killing me.”

Frustrated desire and certain knowledge of what he must do eroded Snape’s resolve to touch her only with fingers. “Take off that ridiculous dress,” he said in a low, tight voice.

She looked up then, lashes spiky, eyes bloodshot. For the first time he noted their light blue color with a fleck of brown in one. Her lips trembled. She reached out her hands and framed his face lightly. Snape felt bafflement that changed to reluctant pleasure as her fingertips ran slowly over his cheeks and jaw.

“The dress,” he ground out.

She pulled back her hands, looking frightened, and hiked the dress up just a few inches. Before he could object, she reached for him, pulling him against her body and grinding up against him. “I can’t hold back any more...” she whispered close and breathy in his ear.

That was it for him. He locked his hands with their long fingers around her waist, shocked anew at its smallness, and hauled her against his body, backing up until he hit the wall. She was mewing now with desperation, grinding her hips into his, trying to wrap her thighs around him. He swore as her fingers scrabbled for the zip of his trousers. Her cries were getting higher and more desperate; she could not undo the zip. He slapped her hand away, quickly shot down the tab, and let his back slide down the wall until he was sitting, the Muggle on his lap. Instantly, she spread her legs—“Please! Please!”

Breathing hard, he reached under the hem of her dress, grabbed one of her buttocks and with his other hand, positioned his straining cock. With a sob, she slid herself over its swollen head before dropping onto it. The impact made them both suck in a breath. The head of Snape’s cock and several inches beyond were now encased in a sheath so tight, he knew the Muggle hadn’t had sexual relations since at least the time of her husband’s decampment. The woman lifted herself and dropped again with a frustrated moan, trying to drive him deeper into her. She grabbed the front of his robes and lifted herself again.

“Take off the dress!” he ordered in a gravelly voice, jerking at the fabric. But she grabbed his hand.

“No,” she gasped, “leave it. Leave it! ...better this way…”

Snape couldn’t imagine how it might be better, but her bouncing on his cock was proving so distracting, he decided it was better to concentrate on not coming. With grim determination, he spread her buttocks wide. She let out a frantic gasp, plucking at the front of his robes and screwed herself completely down onto his length. She froze, his girth filling her, and then her hips began jerking and bucking, creating a delicious twitching on his shaft. He couldn’t take it another minute. His cock swelled enormously. With a low grunt, he yanked her off his tool and felt himself begin spurting into the air.

For long minutes they just gasped for air, sweat rolling off their bodies, the woman leaning on his shoulder.

At last, Snape found his voice and asked, “What is so special about this dress, woman?”

She breathed a few more times before replying, “It’s the only one I have with me.”

“So?” He began trying to stand up.

She pushed herself into a kneeling position, eyes wary. “Believe me, Professor,” she said, “you’ll like it better this way.” She ducked her head and stood up. “Maybe I should clean up,” she mumbled. The hint for him to leave could not have been dropped more clearly.

Snape set his mouth in a firm line. “And leave you alone with my razor? I think not. You want to clean up? There’s the tub.”

She shot a look at him from over her shoulder, her eyes both sad and anxious. “I’m all right now. You can leave me alone.”

“I don’t think so,” he said silkily, coming to his feet and readjusting his trousers. He found his wand and said a silent Evanesco to clean up the floor. This small demonstration of magic put a more frightened look in her eye.

“I just—you can’t—"

“Can’t what?” he said softly in a baiting tone, very curious now what her reason might be.

“Please...I don’t want you to see me without clothes. If you stay, you have to turn your back.”

This last was said with such finality that Snape wanted to laugh. Since when did she dictate terms? Especially in his rooms with no magic? But then he took a good look at his unwilling lover. She stood at least a head shorter than he did, her hair a sweaty mess. Her body, what he could see of it, had a fragile look to it. And her eyes, though they held a determined expression, had dark smudges beneath them.

“I’ll turn my back,” he said slowly, “but I am casting a spell that will warn me of any self-destructive move you may make.” No such spell existed, but she wouldn’t know that. “So take your bath, Miss Mills. But I’ll be right here.”

With a glance of deep misgiving, she gave him a curt nod. Snape turned his back as promised, but not before making sure that the mirror would allow him some view of her if needed. He heard her fill the tub, remove the dress, and step into the water. After some quiet splashing, she got out of the tub, and he heard her putting back on the dress. When he turned around, she was dressed and pale. Snape felt a wave of contempt come over him. She was such a weak creature, a Muggle to boot, and possessed of poor judgment, if her marriage to a Squib was anything to go by.

“You need more of me?” he asked baldly. Privately, he resolved to go back to fingers. He should never have ventured so far into intimacy with one he held in such low esteem. He would not make the same mistake twice.

The woman shook her head, wringing her hands in front of her. “Then let’s try to rest,” he said. Lord knew, he was exhausted. They made their separate ways to the bedroom, where Snape rolled into bed without looking at the woman, and she gingerly followed suit.

*

A loud crack woke Snape from a fitful sleep. He sat up at once.

Lupin’s house elf standing nearby bowed low. Snape glowered. “What is it?”

“I is sorry, Master Snape, but my master sent me to tell you that he needs your potion right away,” the house elf said. Snape fixed the elf with an even more threatening look. “Does Master Snape have an answer for my master?” the elf squeaked.

Several rather interesting answers came to Snape’s mind, none of them repeatable to Lupin. “Tell him I’ll bring it in a few moments. Have him stay away from windows in the meantime. Get going!” he snapped at the elf.

The elf quivered, and with a loud crack, disappeared.

Snape shoved open the bedroom door, stalked into the living room, and began yanking ingredients out of his potions cabinet. He didn’t bother to hide his pique. He almost didn’t notice the woman standing by his bookshelf, twisting her hands together. When he did notice her, he ignored her.

She watched in silence as he brought down the wolfsbane, the elderberry, and the mistletoe. He brought out a foul-looking liquid in a phial and smiled evilly. That would do for flavor.

“Why make the potion for this guy if you hate him so much?” the woman said.

“What potion?” Snape asked with false indifference, continuing to gather the ingredients.

“Well, the anti-werewolf thing you’re—" She broke off with a short cry as Snape spun around toward her.

“How do you know it’s an anti-werewolf potion?” he whispered dangerously.

“W-well, wolfsbane... What else could it be?” she answered, eyes huge. He was struck yet again by their color: summer’s blue, with a drop of honey in the right one.

“And,” he pressed in a menacing tone, “whom do you think it’s for?”

“That, uh, that Loopy guy.”

Snape stared her down. She swallowed. “That Professor Loopy—"

“Lupin,” Snape cut in. “How do you know all this?”

Her hands twisted whitely in front of her. “Well, Dr.—"

“Professor!” His voice cracked the air like a whip, and he was pleased to see her recoil.

“P-professor. Well, I already kind of knew.” Snape managed to conceal this second surprise in as many minutes. “I mean, he’s always sick once a month.” She gave a nervous giggle. “I was starting to joke to myself that it must be his time of the month. And then one day I kind of said to myself, ‘Must be his time of the moon,’ and it kind of came to me. And now I see you’ve got out the wolfsbane, and I mean, what else could that be for?”

Snape puttered with his ingredients. He was, unwillingly, impressed. A Muggle, and she had worked out what only a handful of students in 20 years had done. As he was considering this new knowledge and how to best turn it to his advantage, he heard a thud behind him. Glancing back, he saw that the Muggle had fallen on the floor, twitching. Swearing, he sprang to her side. He saw in an instant that she had not been immune to the Curse’s demands, that rather, through force of will she had managed to hide her symptoms from him. Normally, he would have attributed a woman’s unwillingness to have sexual relations with him to her lack of attraction for him. But the Curse made that deduction impossible. He could only conclude that she was hiding her symptoms out of shame or some kind of misplaced politeness.

“Evanesco!” he said with a slash of his wand. The Muggle’s ridiculous clothes disappeared, and now she was convulsing on his hearthrug stark naked. Now he saw what she had been trying to hide from him. Her body bore the unmistakable signs of child-bearing. Her sides were streaked with stretch marks, and her breasts and belly had a slightly deflated look about them. For all that, she didn’t look terrible.

Snape raised his wand. “Petrificus Totalus!”

Her awful twitching stopped. Snape began working grimly, massaging her frozen muscles and working his way efficiently up her thighs. As he hovered over her, he happened to look at her face. The blue eyes were staring unblinkingly at his ceiling, and tears were streaking down her too-prominent cheekbones into her hair. Being under the Petrificus spell, she could do no more.

Snape wanted to press his lips in a tight line. He wanted to get the task over with. He wanted to snap at her not to whinge. But he knew it would only worsen matters. And her tears, in spite of himself, were dislodging a bit of the callous around his heart.

“Sh,” he said, working his hands up her legs, which he noted were still shapely. “Sh.” His hands halted near the pouting lips of her sex. He had resolved to use no more than fingers. He glanced up at the Muggle. She, of course, could not move and was still staring at the ceiling. But her tears had slowed. When he ran his fingertips over her mons, her tears began again. She had said she had trouble climaxing with just fingers. That settled it for him. He pulled up his robes, unzipped his trousers, and released his full, thick erection. He would have to be careful again to climax outside of her. He hastily said a few contraceptive spells—not as effective as a potion, but better than nothing. He leaned over her.

“I’m going to put it inside you. You understand? It’ll give you more relief.”

She blinked deliberately, whether in assent or protest, he could not tell. He dared not use Legilimency under the emotional circumstances. But he knew what the demands of the Curse must be. He massaged her thighs, first one, then the other, until they developed some flexibility under the pressure of his hands. Then he pushed his body between them, hovering over her, bracing himself on one forearm. With his other hand, he guided his cock into position. When the head made contact with her sex, her eyes closed. Snape frowned with concentration. Not wanting to prolong the wait, he pushed the swollen head of his cock passed the lips of her pussy. Again he was struck by the tightness inside her.

“Try to relax, Ms. Mills,” he said, not unkindly.

Another tear ran a track from her closed eye into her hair. Wrong thing to say, he berated himself. She was under the Petrificus spell and naturally could not relax.

He withdrew his tool slightly, then pushed slowly and inexorably all the way up her slick passage until he reached the mouth of her womb. At that, he stopped, completely sheathed within her.

“Blink if it hurts,” he said. She opened her eyes wide and unblinking. Encouraged, he withdrew his cock slightly and pushed back in. He slid a hand under her buttocks, bringing her more completely into his possession. For several moments, he repeated the slight withdrawal and push deep inside. Her limbs began to resume plasticity. Her legs parted wider. Her eyes tilted to look directly into his. He quickened the pace, making shallow thrusts into the deepest part of her. She began to writhe soundlessly beneath him, her legs coming around his thighs. He longed to get a better look at her breasts, to fondle and play with them, but the task at hand took precedence. Now he was driving somewhat longer thrusts into her swollen sex, taking his cock halfway out before sinking its girth into her. He heard the first hint of her renewed voice in his ear, guttural sounds of wordless, mindless pleasure. Her heels began to rake along his back and the back of his thighs. He grabbed both her buttocks and plowed into her with abandon, making her take his cock to the root and recoiling immediately for another onslaught. She gripped his ass with strong fingers, her back and throat arched, heels drumming on his legs, her grunts getting louder and more insistent with each thrust of his cock up her slick, swollen cunt.

“Come!” he ordered. “Come around me!” His cock got thicker. Suddenly, she grunted harshly, and he felt her pulsing around his length. He thrust shallowly throughout her orgasm, twitching his cock from side to side, and she threw her legs wide and came again. Snape felt his cock swelling even more thickly.

He gave in entirely to his body’s demands, driving his cock roughly into her, crashing it from side to side within her, spreading the cheeks of her firm rump. Her own hands tightened rhythmically on his buttocks. She gave a high, keening cry marking her third orgasm. As he felt the throb of her sex around him, Snape reached the end of his tether. Just as his orgasm bubbled up from within him, he pulled his cock from her pussy and released shot after shot of his seed onto her belly.

For some moments, he did not move and did not think. The world quivered on a moment. The pair of them drew ragged breaths, trying to gain control of their breathing.

Sanity began to assert itself when Snape felt the Muggle lower her shaking legs. He pushed himself slightly away from her.

“No more lying,” he said harshly, leaning over her.

“Lying? I haven’t—"

“You don’t tell me when you’re on the verge of convulsions.”

“I didn’t want to—"

“Stop playing the martyr! You know nothing of the Dark Arts!”

She gave an indignant gasp and pulled herself to a sitting position. “Play the martyr? I’m trying to spare you any more imposition than I’ve already made on you! You can’t even stand the thought of coming inside me!”

Fury spurted up inside him. “I haven’t made any contraceptive potion yet! What am I to do? Make you mother of another fatherless brat?”

She turned a stunned look on him, exactly as if he had slapped her. With a choked sound, she pushed away from him and headed toward the bedroom. Snape caught her arm before she reached the door.

“I’m only telling you the truth.”

She shook her head, not looking at him. “You would father a child and leave me to cope alone? Why did Dumbledore pick you?”

He sighed and longed to give her arm a shake. Instead he said, “Naturally I wouldn’t leave you to cope alone. I would…contribute to the child’s upkeep, assuming it was a wizard. You would have to tell me what you needed if it were a Muggle.”

“You said ‘fatherless brat’!”

“Maybe that was too harsh—"

“Yes! It was!” She turned a tear-streaked face on him. “You could apologize.”

Snape gave her one of his flat, cold stares, the kind that shut up even other Death Eaters. But the Muggle, though she quivered, met his gaze with a stubborn, angry one of her own.

Snape made a quick decision that domestic harmony outweighed personal pride. “I’m sorry,” he said flatly. “But it is still safer to lessen our chances of conception, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Definitely,” she said with a bit too much enthusiasm.

Snape grunted. Without doubt, that contraceptive potion couldn’t be brewed fast enough.

A thought occurred to him. “Do you know anything about the Houses of Hogwarts?” he said.

“Sure. You’re Head of Slytherin.” From her tone, she might just as well have added, “the gits,” Snape reflected.

“Yes,” he said, leaning into her personal space to elicit more respect. He was rewarded by her stepping back awkwardly. “Now...what House do you think you would be in?”

“Well, I—I’m like you say, a Muggle. I don’t get Sorted.” Her perplexity and discomfort were obvious.

“Right. But...which House do you see yourself in?”

“Um, well...” She licked her lips nervously. “Gryffindors are real friendly. I like them. But they’re kind of reckless and don’t seem to have any self-doubt. I know this sounds bad, but I just don’t think I could ever be one of them.” So far, so good, he thought. “Uh...I’m sorry, but I think the Slytherins are a bunch of bullies. I haven’t met one I’ve liked yet—I m-mean present company excluded.” She turned a deep, glowing red, and Snape felt the corners of his lips twitch in spite of himself. “The Ravenclaws—" his heart lifted with hope. “I think I’m as smart as any of them. You didn’t see my grades in school, but I was an honors student. Phi Beta Kappa—well, you wouldn’t know about that. Anyway, yeah, they’re smart. But—" Oh, no, he thought—“I think it’s the Hufflepuffs I like best. They’re smart and brave without being stupid, and they play things real fair. Yeah, I guess Hufflepuff.”

Snape felt as if a bucket of cold flobberworms had been dumped on his head. “Hufflepuff?” he hissed.

The Muggle retreated another step. “Is that all right?” she squeaked.

Snape turned on his heel and left his rooms. Dumbledore would be hearing from him. A Hufflepuff? With a Slytherin? Such a thing had never happened in the history of Britain.