Needfire

Chapter 25 – Concordia Discors


I\'m high but I\'m grounded
I\'m sane but I\'m overwhelmed
I\'m lost but I\'m hopeful baby

-- Hand In My Pocket. Alanis Morissette.


As opposed to Malfoy Manor\'s impeccable fireplace, the hearth in which they landed was all covered with ancient soot. Fighting the urge to drop her cargo and scratch that soot off her tear-stained face, Hermione stumbled into the small interior and, careful to place her luggage away from the filthy fireplace, collapsed onto the cold stone floor. Snape, emerging immediately behind her with his two bags worth of property, was almost too late to catch her.

She heard his carryall and the small suitcase dropping on the flagstones, blinking as a clasp unbuckled and some of the trunk\'s contents spilled over the soot-stained paving stones. Then she was in his arms, sobbing; her nose replete with mucus, and wild, dripping locks of hair glued to her soot-covered face.

\"I want this off,\" she wept hysterically, her fingers digging into his forearms. The sleeves of his shirt, she noted through her veil of tears, were also blackened. \"This is w-wet and disgusting and I\'m t-tired and I want this off.\"

\"Calm down, Hermione.\" Snape\'s voice was soft, and yet unequivocal, demanding that she stop wriggling at once. \"Come, I\'ll cast a cleansing charm on us both, then you can remove these soaked clothes and take a bath.\"

She let out a sob, her helpless struggle abating somewhat at the prospect. \"A… a bath?\"

\"There will be no scraping.\"

It was Snape\'s last comment, manifesting his lack of trust in her – which was understandable but nonetheless painful – that made her last wax seal crack. So instead of kicking him off and telling him to go to hell, she dropped boneless in his arms; a soul without skin to protect it from his dark, piercing eyes, or perhaps a lump of burnt sugar, sticking to the bottom of the pot in which it had been scorched instead of melting; bitter and smelly and scalding.

Tired, she closed her eyes, the sobs coming in wild, stirring waves now that she didn\'t try to control them. The always alert, always analyzing part of her brain was telling her she\'d been picked up and rocked gently in the arms of the man she loved. Her wrenched body recognized the slow rhythm and slowly yielded to it. Deep inside her, however, in the cavity of her heart; in her womb; in all these parts of her body where she imagined certain emotions had settled over the years, there was only a great void: a terrible, faceless exhaustion.

\"I missed you so much,\" she murmured, too tired to mind the soot coming off his clothes. Spittle was blending with charcoal where her swollen lips pressed against his shoulder and the mixture tasted like ash on her mouth. Sobbing, she reached her hand to wipe it clean. \"I didn\'t mean it to get that bad- I\'m sorry, it\'s just, it\'s just-\"

He hushed her. \"I\'m not angry with you-\"

\"-But you\'re disappointed,\" she choked. \"That I let my self-discipline slip-\"

\"Foolish child.\" Against her body, Snape\'s chest rose, then fell in a deep, steadying breath. \"It pains me to see you hurting yourself this way, but I am not disappointed with you.\"

\"Th-thank you,\" she stuttered, stifling a sob. \"Will you… get us clean now?\"

\"Yes, I shall. Just allow me to seal the fireplace.\" Pressing a chaste kiss to the top of her head, he adjusted her still shaking body in his hold. Once he made sure the hearth was disconnected from the Floo Network, he rose, swinging her up into his arms, and began making his way across the narrow sitting room.

Finally calm enough to notice her surroundings, Hermione opened her eyes – still flocculent and sensitive – and scanned the confined, almost monastic space. A large shadow of an armchair, shrouded in white cloth to hide it from the knowing eye of Time was located not far from the fireplace. What might have been a dresser or a sewing armoire stood in a corner near the armchair, concealed under the same white linen. There were no pictures on the wall, though the moonlit view, framed through the two large windows Snape had spelled open as he moved along the room, would be considered enough of a decoration by some.

\"Wait-\" she stopped him before they exited the room. \"Crook- I can\'t leave him in that awful carrier.\"

Growling, Snape reached for his wand, pointing it at Crookshanks\' carrier. The cat, apparently mistaking her lover\'s intention, was hissing and humping at Snape.

\"Alohomora!\"

Finally free, Crookshanks spurted out of the carrier, running across and about the room in a burst of nasty feline hyperactivity.

\"Couldn\'t you possibly have left him at Hogwarts?\" Snape hissed in her ear.

\"How could I leave him behind?\" she asked indignantly. \"I\'m never going back there.\" Then, because the wound was still open and septic she added: \"you don\'t mind Crook, now do you?\"

Snape sighed. \"I suppose if I\'m to keep you, I have no choice but to tolerate his presence.\"

She laughed, hurting and relieved all at once; tears, soot and rain trickling between her parted lips. Absentmindedly she found herself wondering what would be this mixture\'s chemical breakdown; saline tears, relatively neutralized rain water and dusty carbon – hardly aware that her voice broke in mid-laugh and she was half-sobbing, half-laughing.

\"Concordia discors,\" Snape murmured softly to her, \"Open that door for me, Hermione. I don\'t have a free hand.\"

\"Was that a password?\" she asked, leaning from his arms to turn the knob and push the door open.

He shook his head. \"Merely a notion: \'discordant harmony\'. It\'s one of the ways I perceive you. Laughter and tears, anger and complacency, strength and frailty, all at the same time. As far as passwords... you should know that none of the doors in this house is warded. It was not Angharad\'s way. She believed in asking visitors to honor her wishes, not in denying access.\"

So this was his mentor\'s home- the revelation left her gaping. She wanted to ponder it; wanted to watch the rooms they passed on their way to this vast, yet modest bathroom, with that newfound knowledge, and put the pieces together. And once she assembled the piece into a logical picture, to hold the coloured sketch she came up with so it would overlap these sections of Snape\'s life which she knew almost nothing about; compare it with the new revelation about Lily Potter being his high-school girlfriend; to unfold every piece of information she had concerning this man, dust it once again – and once again, put it together. But first she needed to see him whole and up close; first she wanted the void inside her filled and the liquid exhaustion vaporized.

It must be useful, that one human being is capable of reviving you, she thought as he gently uncoiled her arms. And on the other hand: how risky, how dangerous it is. Dependency always comes with a price. A week away from you should have reminded me of this, and yet the first thing I do once we are reunited is crawl on my knees, begging for another dose of the drug that is you.

Snape carried her into the bath and gently set her on her feet. As she slid down his body, she listened to the wet, soaked fabric of her clothes rustling as it separated from Snape\'s. Black, wet cambric, detaching from black, soggy cotton: both cloths shifting against humid skin and sliding back into place; heavy with water. There were large water-stains where dampness diffusing off her school uniform permeated into his clothing; gluing Snape\'s shirt and trousers to his lean, sinewy frame. His face – which he had buried in her mane only moments ago – was covered with the same mixture of rainwater and soot. Oddly enough, standing there – watching him bathing in the moonlight – he didn\'t seem dirty to her. Only a man – her man – whose face had been blackened with soot.

Stepping closer, she stretched out her hand, touching her index finger to his lips. He angled an eyebrow, but aside from that, remained motionless. Snape\'s deep-set, enigmatic eyes were following her movements as she trailed her fingers along the fine curve of his mouth. The murky blend of water and charcoal coming off his skin was now clinging to the tips of her fingers.

\"The cleansing- the cleansing spell,\" she stammered, anxious to get rid of the soot defiling her body. Snape might be untouchable, unstained even when soiled, but not she.

He nodded, pointing his wand at her. In an instant, the soot was gone, but she was still damp, cold and shivering; her hair dripping water.

A moonbeam caught in a drop of water coiling around an unruly lock. She watched it fascinated as it slid down the wiry tress, then, reaching its tip, hung there for a moment – shining in the moonlight – before the inevitable happened and the shimmering orb broke from its stem: swirling down toward the flagstones.

Blinking, she raised up her head. Moonlight cascading from the aperture at the end of the room shone in small pond of water pooling at her feet. It seemed to glow in Snape\'s pale complexion – clean at last – just the way she remembered it from Samhain night: he was catching the starlight and holding it. Strange; ethereal; ugly – beautiful.

\"I missed you so much it was like internal bleeding; I thought I was going mad.\" Sniffing, she reached her cold, stupid fingers to the collar of his shirt, fighting the small buttons holding the two pieces of fabric together.

In the wan moonlight, his milky skin stood painfully against the black of his clothing, so white it was almost provocative: a red-letter or a lily\'s brand. Drinking in the sight, she attempted to tug the wet cambric of his shirt, angry and frustrated when it wouldn\'t yield to her.

\"Poetic justice, now isn\'t it?\" she continued, the chill penetrating her palms and denying her full control of her fingers. Furious, ugly red against his bright sternum. \"I\'m not doing this to flatter you – Merlin knows your ego is inflated enough as it is, but it\'s the only way I know to explain to you why is it I expect you to be kind enough as to let me scratch my own itches in the way I see fit.\" With his shirt finally off, she now struggled to unbutton his trousers, frustrated when her trembling hands wouldn\'t comply. In the end, Snape had to help her, first disposing of his shoes and socks, then removing his trousers.

\"What is it you want, Hermione?\" he asked her, reaching to pull away his boxers, his cock springing free once the confining pants were removed. \"Another game? Another way for you to abuse yourself with me? Must it all be about sex, Hermione?\"

\"No, no!\" she cried in desperation, wrapping her arms around her body although it made the cold fabric of her robes stick closer. Tears were pricking her eyes again and she swore silently, angry that she couldn\'t be dragged far enough from the edge so as not to find herself reacting so disproportionately every time some stupid misunderstanding occurred between them.

\"Here, here,\" mumbling, she stepped closer, placing her spread hands on his chest. His skin was cold and damp but slow heat was pulsing under, seeping into her palms. \"It needs to… it needs to- hurt, maybe-\" she moistened her lips, unsure of what she wanted to say. \"It needs to be as much as possible- and as agonizing as possible, and it needs to be as sweet and as filling-- so if you ever leave me, I am never- I am never that hollow again-\" her voice was shaking. \"I don’t ever want to feel that way again.\"

Level with his chest now, she could see his Adam\'s apple bobbing; her fingers on his skin casting giddy, eerie shadows.

Snape\'s large, slightly roughened palm, reached to tuck a stray lock of hair away from her face. \"Hermione, I\'m sorry-\"

\"The \'s\' word,\" she taunted him, leaning to press her lips to the hollow running between his pectoral muscles.

\"Indeed,\" Snape murmured, suddenly burying his hand in her mane; forcing her head to tilt. \"One of those words which automatically causes your defenses to kick in, reducing you into a spitting child who\'s too busy biting off her own tail to see the monster she\'s facing is but a mere Boggart.\"

Her lips tightened, and she tried to shake her head free. \"That\'s unfair.\"

\"It\'s completely fair. You wanted me naked, now pay in the same coin, and look me in the eyes.\" His voice softened. \"Look at me, Hermione. I want you to look at me.\"

Her voice was sore and raspy. \"That\'s unfair.\"

Snape caressed her cheek, thumb sliding down her cheekbone, under the swollen curve of her lower lip, where it came to rest. \"Does it matter?\" he asked her. \"It\'s not a contest. Please look at me.\"

\"Very well.\" Yielding, at last, she allowed their gazes to meet and hold. I do sometimes wonder if a gaze has a chemical breakdown. His must be acid. Mine is probably base: how come we don\'t neutralize each other? Forcing down her saliva, she made herself look him in the eye. \"All right, Snape. I\'m here, at your mercy. Beautiful white neck, don\'t you think? Please: either lacerate my throat, or unhand me.\"

Snape shook his head. \"Calm down,\" he ordered her. \"Stop fighting like a caged animal – and don\'t avert your eyes – look at me, Hermione. Look at me.\"

The tears that had been pricking her eyes were now streaming down her face; her chest shaking with detained, locked sobs. Yet, she was holding his gaze; his eyes dark and bewitching in the moonlight. \"I am looking at you, you ill meaning bastard!\"

He nodded. \"Good. You should know, then, that I am not going to hurt you. And you should stop being afraid of me. Fear anybody else, but don\'t be afraid of me.\" At that, he released his hold of her, the hand buried in her mane gently easing to cup her tear-stricken face.

Hermione frowned, stepping a tad closer to him. \"Aren\'t you afraid of everyone and everything, oh Master of Warded Doors?\"

He chuckled. \"Paranoia, my dear, is never overestimated. It saved my life many times.\"

She shook her head. \"That was just teasing. But I hardly think you are better than me, Snape. Worse, in fact. I\'m probably… just overwhelmed to see the great Snape cracking, overwhelmed by this horrible week. I suppose I\'m just terribly touchy myself, with a none too pleasant history of being everybody\'s favourite swot…\" Shrugging her shoulders, she lifted her hand, wiping away her tears. \"Snape-\"

\"Yes?\"

\"The other night, after Professor McGonagall burst in, when you sent me away, you said…\"

His mouth thinned and she could see the play of muscles under his skin, as his features set into a cold, detached expression. \"I said many things.\"

\"Ah,\" she hummed, \"who is backing off now. But what you said,\" she continued, serious to a fault, though not because it might have protected her from him, since it could not. \"What you said- did you mean it?\"

Snape frowned. \"Yes… I meant- that.\"

Looking at him, she thought she saw the child he once was staring out of the man\'s eyes- not at her, but through her, at the low stool on which he placed his carefully folded clothes; at the old-fashioned china tub; at the dust particles swirling in that moon-ray, that now enveloped both of them.

The beginning of a smile was tugging at the verge of her lips. Closing the rest of the distance separating them, she coiled her arms around Snape\'s neck: clothed, wet arms, around naked, alabaster skin. Chilled, his gaze suddenly refocused and was back on her face. This close, she could feel the angular, hard planes of his body adjusting to her nearness, her soft curves melting against him; into him, as if he might as well be the place where she ran to hide from the world. The hot, insistent bulge of his erection pressed against her belly; a somewhat worldly reminder that she was being childish, romanticizing a man who should not be romanticized unless she wished herself both a headache and heartache.

Real- she thought. Not to save me, but to revive me. Not a razor for a man, but a man instead of a razor, can you see the difference? God, how much I love you. \"Kiss me, Snape.\"

He nodded, bringing their heads close enough for his lips to hover over her mouth; close enough that she felt the hooked tip of his nose brushing her cheek and was able to note the fine mesh of wrinkles under his eyes. Thin and spindly as a spider web they spread over the sallow skin of his face, following the muscle-structure it covered and marking an elusive trail from his dark, expressive eyes, to the severe line of his mouth. She closed her eyes, her hard, almost sore nipples crushing against his chest, lips swollen and pulsing with anticipation.

Always one to inflict or yield to authority, the soft brush of his lips was not what she yearned for: even after long weeks of learning patience, she was no more readied to have her satisfaction withheld. It was hardly a matter of tolerance, though she admitted to being a greedy creature. It was the sweetness of his kiss, which was nearly scalding – the fear of being naked in her pleasure: paralleling Snape\'s fear, of being caught naked extraditing words. Which he offered her.

Without deepening the kiss, she let her lips move over his mouth: his lips were cold, partly open. Moistened where she brushed them with hers; the satiny texture slightly curdled where the cold bit into them before she cast the warming spell.

They kissed gently; mouths parting at once. The soft, slobbery sound that followed, reminded her of a bivalve plucked by the sweet water of a lake.

Leaning again into the kiss, she felt Snape\'s breath on her mouth. It was hot at first, but quickly it made her chilly; cooling down the water still glazing her skin. His tongue sneaked out, skillfully following the contours of her lips, then darting between them, to meet the tip of her tongue. The sharp contrast between the cold, slightly moist lips, and the hot, wet mouth slowly opening over hers, was delicious. Meeting midway, their tongues were tentatively stroking each other. Then, giving in to her instincts, she let her tongue coil invitingly around his – a velvety, slobbery, slow temptation – daring it to roam further into her mouth.

Back in Hogwarts, where she left her old life, she could hear Patil and Brown exchange tips about kissing. Tilt your head in that direction; do that thing with your tongue; careful about you teeth! How petty: how irrelevant. What an utter waste of time, when all you had to do was let your instinct guide you. Sometimes she thought that for her, kissing this man may be as natural as breathing. It was erotic, yes, but evoked this certain feeling that could be only described as the sensation of a child – their long lost echo, perhaps – picking tulips in a snowy meadow; chasing after a kite with the sun at their back; wide-eyed girl staring at a faun whose packages were rolling on the snow at her feet.

They were still kissing when Snape\'s fingers reached for the laces at the collar of her school robe, swiftly undoing them. \"You should be out of those soggy clothes,\" he breathed against her lips. \"Warm up, and rest.\"

She moaned, capturing his mouth and drawing him into a long, desperate kiss. \"I don\'t want to be warm and rested. I want you.\"

\"You don\'t know what you want,\" he murmured, pulling away once more, clever hands peeling her school robe from her body and tugging it over her head. Underneath, she was still wearing her school uniform; tweed skirt, white linen shirt and a woolen sweater.

Swatting his hands aside, she leaned to fasten her mouth to the clean, graceful arch of his left trapezius muscle. His skin, just the way she remembered it, had tasted of rainwater, forest and musk, lucid and pungent at the same time. Yet a certain sourness, a certain haunted flavor she had always tasted in his sweat was missing. Somehow, he was better. Healthier. She told him so, aggravated when he used the opportunity to grip her waist, placing her on the tub\'s curled brim.

She glowered at him, attempting to kick off his hands that were untying the laces of her shoes.

\"Do you wish to bathe in your clothes?\" he asked her angrily.

\"Of course I don\'t!\"

\"Then stop acting like a baby.\"

She sobbed. \"You\'re pushing me away.\"

Sighing, he bent over the bath\'s edge, placing her shoes aside, then was back kneeling in front of her. Taking one of her cold, damp hands in his, Snape used his free hand to remove an unruly lump of wet hair away from her face. Trailing her lips with his thumb, he frowned: obviously looking for the right words to express his thoughts. \"It is not my intention to make you feel rejected- but you are scattered –No, listen to me,\" he calmed her when she opened her mouth to protest, \"-you are hurt, and so, you are overreacting. Please, let me see you\'re bathed,\" she heard him say softly, her heart swelling at the softness in his voice. \"Then I want you to have some sleep. Then we can see.\"

Swallowing her tears, Hermione nodded.

He didn\'t exactly smile, but his eyes in the moonlight seemed clearer, brighter. Enough for her to see the deep-grey circling the black irises. His fingers – strong, but like his voice; painfully gentle when he willed it to be – grasped her right ankle. Digging under the elastic band holding the white, plain sock to her shin, he had carefully unrolled it down Hermione\'s lightly muscular leg, exposing a pale, pasty foot. Leaning over the tub\'s rim, he stuffed it into her right shoe, then turned to remove her other sock, fingers hovering over her skin.

Being touched like that wasn\'t necessarily arousing, she reflected as she watched him moving to flick the copper tap open. It was rather… it stirred something which was so far numb, reminding her that her skin was hungry for his skin: perhaps this is it- a hunger that should be satiated, much like sex. But then, why is there this horrible deprivation all of a sudden when he\'s gone, and why would the metaphorical voices shut-up only when he touches me. You should know, Snape, that I am not pleased in the least, only sickly dependent.

Hot, steaming water was now pouring from the tap; tickling her toes with its blunt heat. Finished with her footwear, Snape was now approaching her sweater. Straightening his back a little in order to pull it over her head, his torso was sheathed between her parted thighs. Lowering her gaze, she could see his half erect cock rising up from its thatch of dark curls.

Noticing where her eyes were wandering, Snape looked at her amusedly. \"Later.\"

Reaching her hand before he could stop her, she gently revealed the purplish head, stroking the extremely sensitive glans. \"Maybe.\"

At that, he indeed removed her hand, bringing her fingers to his lips and kissing them. \"We\'ll see.\"

\"You\'re evil.\"

\"I\'m trying to do what\'s best by you,\" he sighed. \"I\'m not always sure whether I actually make the right decision, but I surely try.\"

Efficiently, as if he was attempting to negate the possibility of the action carrying any kind of sexual insinuation, he unfastened the buttons at the front of her shirt, swiftly tugging the damp linen over her shoulder. However, try as he might, he could not prevent the proximity of his hands to her heavy, aching breasts; nor could he prevent the heat diffusing from his skin to penetrate her epidermis. Arching her back, she tried to rub her already hardened nipples against his palms, moaning as he quickly evaded her. When he leaned to unclasp the hook, she could once again reach for his straining cock, fully erect by now, and swirl her index finger over the gaping piss-hole.

\"Hermione-\" Snape swore, gritting his teeth. \"You should really stop doing that.\"

\"I don\'t want to. I want you.\" Swiftly catching his hand, she brought it under her skirt, pushing aside the edge of her knickers and leading his fingers between her moistened folds. \"I want you,\" she pleaded with him, gasping as his fingers slid past her nether lips, against her thigh and were back resting on his hip.

The water pouring into the bath had reached Snape\'s flexed knee in the meanwhile.

\"Can you take off your skirt and pants?\" he asked, looking suddenly exhausted; tired of arguing with her.

\"No,\" she answered spitefully. \"My hands are cold, which affects my wrists badly.\"

\"Right.\" Rising to his feet, he urged her to stand up as well. Outstretching his hands to circle her waist, he undid the button and zipper holding the garment to her body.

\"Please lift your leg,\" he ordered her, crouching to hold the cloth at her feet. \"Now the other one-\"

Pouting her lips like a little child might do, she followed his orders, unaware of the hot water lapping her ankles and climbing slowly up her shins, only to the naked man who dispatched of her clothing with cold efficiency.

\"Don\'t you want me anymore?\"

He growled, tossing her skirt on the flagstones. \"Stop behaving like a lost puppy, Hermione. You have every evidence that I want you; I gave up my career and my reputation for you and I would do it again, but I won\'t comply to your misguided wish to fuck when what you need is rest, nor will I feed your insecurities by reassuring you every time you decide I don\'t want you for some erroneous reason.\"

A flush was heating her cheeks, spreading down to her neck and chest and making her aware of her erect nipples. Angry, and yet surprisingly calm, she lifted her eyes to look at him.

\"You don\'t want me to behave like a lost puppy? Fine. Then stop treating me like one. Stop saying my wishes are misguided and that there is a fault with my reasoning. I know I am overacting, but I do need your reassurance. I know it\'s hard for you to give it, and I am trying-\" she halted, biting on her lower lip -\"I\'m trying to let it be enough, knowing we all have our difficulties. But having my own holes doesn\'t make me a lost puppy anymore than it makes you.\"

Sighing, she bent to remove her pants, folding the scanty piece of cloth and stepping out of the bathtub to put it on the stool where Snape\'s clothes were displayed. Picking up her tweed skirt on the way, she folded it as well, and draped it over a towel-hanger not far from the stool.

The small ponds of water she left behind became a small trail of mirrors once the moonbeams hit them. They captured the soft, silvery light of the moon and reflected it so it sprayed onto the china tiles on the walls. Wavering along the tiles draping the room, the once lucid moonlight had sparkled similarly to the pixies\' diluted flicker; leading innocent travelers astray until they lost their way inside the ancient, dark forest. Lost, she mused- so not to be found. But have I lost my way back to you?

Stepping back into the bathtub, Hermione felt the water wrap around her shins. The tap, she noted, was closed, and Snape was sitting at the tub\'s rear end, knees drawn to his body; his arms crossed over his knees. At this position, the water licked his upper abdominal muscles: the bath was just full enough for her to sink in and be enveloped in hot, steaming water, reaching the line of her neck. Doing exactly that, she half crawled, half floated over to Snape, gently moving his hands aside and seating herself between his parted legs.

She was pleased to see he didn\'t make objections, and yet disappointed at his lack of cooperation. Especially, at his refusal to look at her.

\"Snape,\" she whispered, turning around so she could face him. His fully erect cock was pressing against her belly. Outstretching her hands to cup his face, she stared into his eyes. \"Snape.\"

\"What?\" he asked, blinking tiredly.

\"I am a lost puppy,\" she murmured, planting a kiss on his lips, \"and I do want you. One of the reasons I want you to sleep with me now, is for you to help me pretend I\'m whole: something we both know is false. But I also want you to sleep with me because I want you, and because I love you, and people who love each other have sex with each other. That what all the silly agony aunts say: \'wait until you find someone you love, only then have sex.\' I love you Snape,\" she whispered, giving him another, deeper kiss. \"Make love to me because I love you. And because you love me, too.\"

\"Is that what you want?\" he asked, his hand moving to play with a ropey curl that floated in the water between them.

Hermione nodded, moving closer to him. Her nipples crushed against his chest and his full, pulsing cock pressed deeper onto the soft curves of her abdomen. She wanted to spread her thighs, feel the contours of his penis and testicles against her vulva, undulate with him sprawled under her straddled hips and have the tip of his cock silkily rubbing her engorged clitoris. Most annoyingly, however, the side of the tub was in her way, preventing her from doing so: if only she could get him to sink lower… then the flowing current of her thought was cut, when Snape\'s lips found hers, and only the analyzing, cataloguing part of her brain kept functioning, noting how lovely was his tongue parting her lips, skillfully exploring her palate: how sweet and warm and soft were his lips, applying mild suction on hers, while his tongue was probing the clean, enamel sharpness of her teeth… the lukewarm, sweet, yet elusive taste of his spittle in her mouth.

His hands – I would never be cured of my fascination with his hands – were roaming down her neck, finding the small mounds of her breasts, and lightly squeezing them. She moaned as his mouth left her lips; its taste, its touch, still burning them, but arched her back into his mouth when he leaned to close his lips over a taut nipple.

Even more blood surged to the tip of her breast, to tinge her nipple redder when he sucked on it. He laved her nipple with his tongue, flicking on it sharply, then returned to his languid, decadent suction, working a slow, maddening rhythm. Maddeningly gentle, maddeningly cruel. Until the pull of his lips was the only one she recognized, somewhat like the moon\'s call to the waves, summoning them back to the sea, and unto the shore. Then, when she was about to bury her hands in his hair and urge him to go on faster, he increased the suction, adding a bit of teeth, until she thought she might come from his mouth on her breast alone.

Meanwhile, his other hand was teasing her second breast. Tweaking the nipple gently and then more forcefully, he caused her to gasp. Then, without giving any proceeding notice he switched breasts; sucking fervently on her tortured nipple. She cried out, fingers entwining into his wet hair, affixing to his scalp: humping her back onto his lips and hands.

Chuckling, Snape detached himself from her, drawing away just when she urged him to give more. Then giving more, and retreating: coaxing every bit of pleasure she could provide him with. As if my sexual fulfillment is an integral part of this act for him. Though I suppose it is- not in the artificial, selfish sense, of satisfying your partner so you can stroke your own ego saying; \'hey, she came. I\'m an excellent lover.\' But because my pleasure gives him pleasure, because it’s a fine art and should be conducted properly… because he cares for me.

And likewise.

Reaching between their bodies, she touched his cock, missing the telltale moisture at its head, as it had been swept away by the water in the tub. Closing her hand around the thick stem, she squeezed lightly, looking at Snape\'s eyes while doing so. His pupils widened at once, leaving only a thin arch of wild grey circling the black orbs. Encouraged by his reaction, Hermione squeezed more forcefully, this time bringing her other hand, too; index finger trailing between the exposed glans. This actually made him groan.

Pleased with her lover\'s reaction, she moved to the sack of his balls, nestling them gently inside her open palm. Pressing lightly, she was glad to note his testicles seemed to grow heavier, more substantial in her hand. She was about to continue, when he reached his hand to stop her.

Moistening her lips, she looked at him with misunderstanding.

\"Too close,\" he said, his voice husky.

She nodded, leaning to kiss him, feeling the fingers – which only a moment ago sneaked to remove her hand from his scrotum – sneaking between her legs.

One long, aristocratic finger moved in first, parting her folds and brushing over her clitoris while doing so. Hermione gasped as the finger found her entrance, plunging inside, then moving in slow, accurate circles; deliberately stretching her. Another finger joined its friend inside the wet, velvety tunnel, sliding along the pliant, elastic walls of her vagina. The two fingers were teasing her in a way that caused Hermione\'s vaginal muscles to flex and shrink around them. It went on like that for a while, two of Snape\'s fingers twisting in and out of her body, when a third finger was added, this time followed with his thumb; swirling over her clitoris.

She cried out, her nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, but Snape only hummed, and cruelly pulled his fingers out of her body. \"I want you to turn around,\" he said quietly, placing his hands on her waist. \"This bath may be wide, but I think the most comfortable thing for us to do is for you to sit in my lap.\"

She nodded. \"Would you give me a hand?\"

\"Of course.\"

With Snape\'s aid, she was once again recumbent with her back to him, sitting athwart his hips with her thighs spread open. She could not see his facial expression, but Hermione had deeply suspected an evil grin when she straightened, and taking his erection in her hand, had blindly aimed it to face her entrance. The swollen tip brushed her clitoris, making her moan, then settled against her opening. Lowering herself, she felt her body stretch to welcome the penetration; laving and wrapping it in slick heat, much like the water around her was moving and undulating. Humping her back, she made sure he was sheathed even further into her body, instinctively looking for the familiar pressure of his balls pressing against her perineum – and not finding it.

Instead, a long, sinewy arm was wrapped around her waist, Snape\'s skilled, clever fingers sliding between her straddled thighs and her parted nether lips, to the pulsating nub that was her clitoris. Without wasting time, he began to circle it, stirring the small bud back and forth with the tip of his index finger. She screamed, arching against him, her head hanging against his shoulder. His lips bit into the curve of her neck, and with his fingers now pinching her clitoris, she began moving over his erection; rising until he was almost out of her body, then sinking deeply. His other hand found her breasts, fondling them, caressing them, sometimes crushing, in time with her motions and his stimulating of her clitoris. All fervent; heated; dizzying.

The water around them waved over the curled rim of the tub and splattered on the floor. The moonlight, spraying off the splattered water was feverish, and the pixies on the walls were dancing around them.

Her orgasm, tangy and sour, was a fist of pleasure low in her abdomen, threatening to crush both of them when it came. She threw back her head, thinking how much better it must be, to be a wolf; able to wail your pain and sorrow and pleasure and happiness, crying out loud as her vagina clenched around him, fisting him into his own orgasm. The water might have taken the wet, sweaty sweetness of sex, but when he spurted his seed deep inside her body, she could feel the hotness and the wetness of it, and she thought she might have even heard him gasp her name.