The Gilded Cage

Hermione Snape- And if you thought that was hot…
Danie- I have lots of chapters to go before it’s finished. I have some of them written and complete, and some of them missing in the middle, if that makes sense. I don’t always write sequentially. There’s also a key chapter that I’ve penned an outline for, but haven’t written, and I’m kinda dreading it.
Voracious- I think… I might be able to keep the schedule… mostly. I just can’t keep promises. I’m trying though.
jocat- Ginny will continue to pop up. They make a good couple.
HarryGinny4eva- Thanks for your support love. You’ve been with me from the beginning. Let’s finish it together.
Barbarossas_Boot- Lurking or not, thanks for reading. And I’m rather partial to the line myself.
War Lioness- Yep, purple and sparkly just isn’t much of a substitute, Hermione was totally clueless. And Snape – Mulciber that’s a fun dynamic to work with.
amd2175- Ooh, I’ll have to check it out. Get your boots on didn’t grab me, but then neither did Rattle and Hum album, and it’s grown on me quite a bit.
Heidi191976- And wouldn’t that make for a nice happy ending?
Phoenix- Here comes a little bit more inspiration…
catysmom- Welcome back. Thanks!
Kimjo2- Yea, I prefer AFF, just because I like things a wee bit smutty.
cherriepepsiisgod- Oh goodie, I’m glad you thought so.
anncee- I’m going to TRY I just can’t PROMISE. And speaking of SS/HG action…
Kat Monster- I had one of those - and gave in to temptation, and it was terrible. It kinda makes temptations afterwards not so tempting. Maybe you didn’t miss much.
HermioneMalfoyFan- I’m hoping it’ll be explosive enough. And I’ve always been someone more interested in quality not quantity, hence some of my shorter chaps.

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Chapter 39 - Scriptor Ventus Fabula Madidus


The dress was a dark plum and couture. Very classy, much more stylish than anything she would have picked out for herself, but Jake had impeccable taste and managed to find something that also covered the starburst hex scar on her shoulder. Though dressing to the nines was wasted on an event she could have cared less about. Jake, however, was entirely in his element, schmoozing business contacts with ease and networking for new clients. He could ‘do’ small talk; Hermione was absolutely pants at it.


She left the half-eaten rubbery chicken almondine on her plate and saddled up to the bar, absent-mindedly ordering whatever their special cocktail of the night was. When the ‘Pixie Dust’ arrived, all lurid pink with golden fizzing bubbles, Hermione was reminded for the umpteenth time why she hated trade shows with unending passion. It was always the same crowd. There were only so many wizarding companies. So why did she have to keep meeting and greeting them over and over? Supposedly it was good for business. Hermione had to question the added value ratio. If this night didn’t result in significant new contracts, she was determined it would be her last.


Besides, she was missing time with Severus to be there. Time spent with him never made her question the added value ratio. She glanced again over her shoulder. She had been doing it all night, studying the darkened corners of the room, her mind spinning fantasies of Severus in tailored robes, haunting her.


He had heard she would be out, looking utterly beguiling, and he wanted to protect her. Wanted to watch over her and make sure no other man messed with his witch. No. That sounded too disturbed. He couldn’t wait until he saw her later that night. Yes, that was it. Much better.


Risking life and limb, Severus escaped from prison. He Confunded guards with an impressive showing of wandless magic, before Apparating to her. Severus only wanted to catch a glimpse of her porcelain skin in the couture gown. Hermione glanced again back over her shoulder, trying to make out his form in the corners and shadows. But no, the master spy was elusive.


Soon, Hermione dreamed, as she picked up her stole to leave, a hand would curl around her arm, pulling her into the ballroom’s darkened recesses to ravage her mouth… or perhaps he’d sweep her up into a heart pounding tango. Did Severus tango? That would be a good question for the next time he was in a mood to open up to her.


She had once overheard from Lavender that a witch could learn everything she wanted to know about a wizard by studying how he moved on the dance floor. Dancing, whether vertical or horizontal, was about the same thing. Could a wizard move; could he keep a beat? Did he dance for himself, to show off how flashy he was, or did he make the witch look good? Was the couple well matched? Did they move as one together, or just in time to the music? Relatively speaking, it was one of Lavender’s better theories. Not that she put stock in Lavender’s pearls of wisdom.


Hermione was willing to bet good galleons Severus could move.


The clink of a second pink ‘Pixie Dust’ cocktail hitting the bar in front of her pulled Hermione back to the present. Somewhere she had acquired a drinking companion. The wizard on her right stood with the careless air of another disaffected party-goer, but he had a decidedly mischievous sparkle to his hazel eyes. On the whole, the roguish blond was exactly the sort of wizard who would have garnered her attention - and possibly more - some time ago. Once. Once upon a time ago.


“We’ve met,” he opened, flashing a set of perfectly straight teeth. “I’m sure of it. I never forget a beautiful witch. Didn’t we meet in Strasbourg?”


Hermione arched a disbelieving eyebrow. This was a rather new approach. Aside from the terrible attempt at a pick-up, she only got the ‘where do I know you’ line from old witches in checkout queues. Granted, her blown-away hair had been tamed for the evening, but the Prophet still picked at the dry bones of her life any time they had extra space to fill. Not that she was being self-absorbed or anything. Someday, she prayed, her fifteen minutes would end. Hermione had never developed Harry’s blasé or Ron’s eager enthusiasm.


“No, I don’t think we’ve met.” He was cute, and she was willing to bite for no other reason but to see where it went. At least, she contented herself, she wouldn’t look daft to the odd observer by tossing her head over her shoulders, peering at absolutely nothing in the dark corners. By having company she could keep up the pretenses of being sane. That, and she had two more hours to the evening before she could gracefully bow out and be where she wanted to be. ‘Home’ with Severus.


Not that she’d accept the drink from him. Rule Number One: Never, Ever, Ever accept a drink from a strange wizard. Aside from slipped-in lust potions, too many wizards assumed that a drink purchased the entry into a witch’s bed. Precious few gentlewizards were willing to pay for the pleasure of a witch’s company without expecting more.


“Donald Browne.”


“Hermione Granger.” She watched in mild amusement as his eyes briefly flashed.


She learned Donald was a swiftly rising accounts manager in one of her competitor’s subsidiaries who liked to talk about himself. With his manipulative charisma Hermione figured he’d burn brightly to the top in short order. He was also unmarried, and whole heartedly approving of the recent Marriage Law that funneled desperate witches into his waiting arms. A pig for certain, but an entertaining pig at least. He was helping her count down the clock until it was pumpkin-time for Cinderella.


Donald was also rather pleased with himself. Not only had he managed to chat up one of the best looking birds under sixty in the place, but a celebrity at that.


“I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t touch your Pixie Dust. You know, I probably have something back at my place that will tickle your fancy. Or perhaps you’ll just let me tickle your fancy,” Donald smirked going in for the close.


“Ah, then you couldn’t help but notice I’m also married.”


Hermione hastened a glance at the thin gold band on her left hand. Not for the first time in the last few weeks did she wish she had put more effort into picking out a ring. At the time she’d only wanted to proclaim ‘my heart’s not in this’ as loudly as possible. But now, it felt like the message missed the mark.


“Hermione,” Donald purred, covering her left hand with his own. “I can be discreet. I can be very discreet.”


The Marriage Law had been the very best idea the Ministry had ever had in Donald’s estimation. He had desperate young witches throwing fresh pussy at him left and right, trying to catch a man. And just because the ‘Ministry Approved Fidelity Clause’ was a killjoy, didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy a married witch. Typically they were just as horny as the unmarried ones. And the married ones always gave good head. Occasionally he got lucky and found a married witch who let him fuck her in the ass. Those were superlative evenings. If she were good, he’d keep her owl address. Donald’s eyes roved Hermione’s backside appreciatively.


Hermione narrowed her eyes and snatched back her hand, disgusted that harmless playful banter had turned so disturbing. Then again, Hermione had been out of the dating scene for a long time, and had forgotten that at the end of the evening wizards were expecting to Apparate home with their trophies.


“Full Fidelity Charm,” Hermione deadpanned. Really, did she need to say much more? And for once she was thankful for Severus’ insistence.


Donald shuffled backwards awkwardly, his eyes wide and mouth gaping open as if he was going to start sicking up slugs.


“Really, I have no idea what the consequences of violating the charm are,” Hermione carried on, “but given that I’m married to Severus Snape, I’d hazard to guess it’s rather creative. It was nice meeting you Donald.” As Hermione hopped off her bar stool she waved a ‘tootle-loo,’ and headed for the exit.


She wondered, not for the first time, why ‘having a thing for bad boys’ equated to ‘having a thing for assholes.’


Her tolerance for anything more that evening had dried up. In fact, she had about as much patience for Donald and the trade show as she did for her Pixie Dust. The only place she wanted to be was curled up with the acerbic Death Eater-cum-spy who was undoubtedly pacing his cell waiting for her, even though she had already warned him not to wait up.


Two hours later saw Hermione freshly scrubbed up in her jeans and trainers, a bag of greasy fish and chips under her arm and stalking her favorite corridor in the world.


The moment she entered his cell she wondered if she’d stumbled into the wrong cell before her eyes adjusted.


*****


“You know, you're not supposed to drink alone, Severus.”


“Ah, well. You just missed the party,” he slurred slightly. "Everyone who's anyone was here. And there was dancing and a live band. So sorry you missed it."


"Sounds like my night," she mumbled to herself. Usually, Severus could hear all the snotty comments she made under her breath, a talent born out of necessity and of years listening at keyholes. Just then he wasn't quite paying attention to the chit. He rather had more important thinking and drinking to do.


Hermione frowned. He was drinking in the dark. According to another one of her self-help books, that was another indicator of an unhealthy life habits. True night had fallen, but she and the boys had arranged for a touch-activated sconce above his bed, and he wasn’t using it. Severus was slumped in his chair, against the far wall and in his half buttoned shirt sleeves, looking like a lifelong libertine at the end of a particularly good binge. And loathe as she was to admit it, Severus was quite sexy in his dishabille. Not every man could pull off the unshaven 'don't-give-a-damn' look that Hermione favored, but Severus could... and much better than Charlie ever managed.


She warily eyed the bottle of Ogden’s Special Reserve, one of her Christmas gifts. Drinking with Severus was a dangerous game, and not one to be undertaken lightly. Presently it wasn’t a path she was willing to travel; he was obviously in one of his melancholic moods. And a brooding Snape was an unpleasant Snape. But then, he hadn’t actually offered to share either.


“I have more notes from the first trials of your joint rejuvenator,” Hermione began without preamble. Per usual, she hoped to maintain a semblance of authority through efficiency. “Of course we haven’t figured out what to call it yet. Skele-gro is trademarked, so anything close to that would make us vulnerable to litigation, so we’ve sent a list of ideas to a working group of consultants…”


Severus’ eyes followed the witch’s moving lips, but paid no mind to her chatter. She rambled too much and rarely said anything of real interest anymore. It was all the same, ‘the staff meeting ran late,’ ‘I want new distributors,’ ‘why can’t I hex stupid employees…’ Truly irritating. Hermione Granger was as irritating and intolerable as a woman as she had been as a child, but at least she was a damn sight better to look at. And fantasize about.


He’d always imagined that a hand basket speeding swiftly to hell most resembled a Gringotts cart. Now he knew to the firmament of his soul it resembled nothing more than a hag-haired swot in jeans. Surely she’d be the death of him.


She was working herself up into a snit again. Through the corner of his ear he registered her ranting about some apothecary not giving her product satisfactory placement. With a wry smirk he observed her breathing deepen, her eyes doing that cute little narrowing thing that she did whenever she was mentally hexing someone. Ah. Perfection. Through her hideous Muggle t-shirt, her nipples hardened and popped out. May the Gods bless those Muggles and their unseemly fashion sense. Like pert little peas, they were so tempting to kiss, even through the cheap cotton fabric. Would she squeal or moan if he nipped one?


“Hermione,” he rasped.


“…which of course won’t be ready until Tuesday, when clearly I specified that I had to have delivery by the fourteenth! I mean, why else would I have contracted out with them, but they always pull these stunts with me, and it takes me threatening to haul them into court at least three times before…”


“Hermione!” he barked, finally grabbing her attention. “Give it a rest.”


She looked at him puzzled before belatedly realizing she’d gone off on a wild tangent, yet again.


So why was he staring at her that way? Was there a stain on her shirt? With theatrically wide eyes she realized that he seemed to be having a silent conversation with her breasts. And they seemed to be responding.


“Severus, you’re staring,” she could feel her cheeks starting to flush, but for the life of her couldn’t manage to tell him to stop. It was oddly just as erotic to watch him drink her in hungrily. Objectification had never been so sexy before.


“Well, what do you expect me to do, they’re fucking magnificent,” he groused, raising the bottle in mock salute.


Obviously, the right thing to do was to admonish his poor behavior, set personal boundaries, state expectations... but she could compromise. He could stare, and she could… enjoy his attentions? Was that a compromise? Wasn’t that what that silly book on relationship advice had said? Maybe the experts did know something after all.


It didn’t matter, did it? He was clearly drunk off his ass, and the ogling of the women came after the heavy imbibing, to be shortly followed by the fantastic fumbling of clothing and the magnificent drunken sex. Only life wasn’t fair, and she wasn’t plastered. Oh… and he was Snape, and for some reason that meant she couldn’t shag him. Pity. She could really use a good fuck.


“You’re pissed,” she deadpanned.


“Very observant. I’ve always said you were a clever girl.”


“You’ve never said that,” Hermione shrilly insisted.


“Ah,” he frowned, his head swung loosely towards his chest before bobbing up, “my mistake.” His nose twitched as he worked hard to come to a difficult conclusion and Hermione stilled under his intense scrutiny. “You don’t need my approval, do you?”


“No. Not really. It would have been nice as a child to get encouragement, but...” Hermione shrugged her shoulders in a helpless gesture.


Hermione hated being the bad guy. She always had to be the bad guy, the responsible one, the voice of fucking reason, but someone had to, and Severus wasn’t being much help.


“Look, I’m just going to leave this sack of take-away and go. This is awkward and I can’t imagine you want me here, so I’ve got a bottle of hangover relief in my satchel for you, because I’m certain that tomorrow you’ll have a troll sitting on your skull…”


She was rambling again. And a wispy curl was trying to affix itself on her juicy lip gloss. Her lips had a peachy tint; did the lip gloss taste peachy? Severus hardened at the thought, not that he wasn’t already proudly sporting wood. Those pretty glistening lips would slide really well up and down his cock. Severus was willing to bet gold she wouldn’t choke at all. Hermione’d take him like a champ; she was always overly ambitious and willing to please like that. She’d open that delicate throat to receive every blessed inch of him. She probably could suck the finish off a Firebolt. Why was she still yakking? Couldn’t she see he was busy?


“Hermione, wait!” he shouted in a panicked voice as she was leaving. Why was she leaving? Couldn’t she see how desperately he needed her? “Don’t go, please, please don’t go.” He hastily stood and lurched for her.


Hermione stopped the cell door wide open to the world and stared at him in disbelief. Severus Snape never sounded pitiful. Or desperate. Certainly he was hard up for company, and as her eyes traveled she mentally catalogued he was impressively hard up as well, very impressively, deliciously so… ‘Focus!’ her conscience demanded. Her train of thought derailed, until she saw the humbling need in his glittering eyes. Severus Snape needed her. Well, there were worse things in life, and who was she to be so callous and cruel?


“Please don’t leave me tonight. We don’t have to do anything… I just… need you, ” he whispered. His voice was so sullen she wondered if she’d imagined it at all. Well, at least that was a proper excuse for staying. If he later acted like an asshole she could always use it as ammunition.


“I suppose,” she said, her voice low at a near whisper, “I suppose I could stay a bit longer. If you’ll have me.”


“Yesss,” he hissed through clenched teeth. His eyes slid quickly toward the sleigh bed. Over the last several weeks they’d treated it as if it were a couch, a desk, a place to picnic on, and an ad hoc bookshelf, but as she followed his gaze they both knew it was a bed.


Hermione quietly closed the gaping cell door and slid out of her flats. She made a small production of laying them centered and straight beneath the bed, stalling while Severus crawled in. She pursed her lips when she straightened and saw him dominating the center of the small bed, his arm outstretched, beckoning her to join him. Her silly irrational female desires lurched as the rational voice in her head demanded that she turn and run.


Hermione crawled into bed with a thick swallow and nestled herself in his embrace. Severus spooned her backside, pressing his jutting erection into her bum. While parts of her mind recoiled, the sinful side, the one that knew moisture was leaking into her knickers and loved it, purred, rocking back into him. Recriminations be damned. So what if she wanted her unrepentant sodding Death Eater husband, who wasn't exactly an unrepentant sodding Death Eater? Surely there were worse things in the world?


Severus drew her closer into his chest and brought an arm around to cup her breast gently, his thumb slowly tracing her curves. His warm breath huffing against her ear, his movements were slow and steady, an exquisitely sweet seduction.


This wasn’t about her. It was about him. She told herself firmly. He was drunk. He just needed some human contact. Perfectly acceptable for an incarcerated man. It meant nothing. Nothing at all.


That was bullshit and she knew it.


Hermione pressed her lips together uncertain how to proceed. As much as she wanted to roll over and ask what he wanted – needed from her, she couldn’t. To give voice to this… to question it… even to open her mouth and break the smooth silence would feel like a sin.


Severus drew her closer. He gathered her snugly against his warm body to run a calloused hand along the plump curve of her side. Hermione’s eyelids fluttered shut when he nuzzled the sensitive skin of her neck. She clenched them tight because Severus was so wonderfully male and she could smell the heady tart scent of male arousal.


She cast aside her inhibitions and silenced the scandalized voices in her mind. She was a woman. How she had forgotten the fact along with her needs, Hermione did not know. But Severus made her feel like a woman, and with the heat emanating from his hips, it was a good thing indeed. Why had she protested this?


Severus placed wet unhurried kisses at her silky throat as one hand gripped her hip, rhythmically pulling her against his erection. Hermione’s legs drifted open and Severus insinuated one of his between hers, brushing her sex, inflaming her desire. The friction against her clit was delicious and she whimpered at the contact. She wanted to rub herself up and down every goddamned inch of his swollen cock. His hand trailed up. Severus deftly ran his palm under her light t-shirt to trace circles on her little rounded stomach.


Her soft moans encouraged Severus to reach for and tickle her pebbled nipples. “Absolutely phenomenal tits, my Vixen,” he whispered lowly into her collarbone. He palmed the soft flesh of her breast and reveled in how she writhed against him. He pinched and rolled them, and Severus grunted when her round hips ground against his loins in response. He didn’t know how much foreplay he had in him before he let go. With his witch frotting against him, Severus was tempted to throw her on her back and give her exactly the good fucking her body was begging for.


Never content to lay idle, Hermione untangled her legs and sat up in bed, Severus’ possessive grip on her released as she shucked her encumbering shirt. The shirt was balled up and hit the leather chair with a light ‘thwack.’ Her bra fell shortly afterward. Hermione didn’t give a damn where that landed.


Severus turned her in his arms, his fingers dragging across her flesh, and his lips found a painfully hard nipple to kiss. Her head tumbled back, her wild curls cascading down as she arched into his mouth. When he bit her nipple, she gasped before her nails raked into his scalp, but she did not pull him away. As Severus gently smoothed the abuse with his tongue, his palm tenderly caressed her other plump breast until Hermione trembled. She could fucking come from his play on her breasts.


She caught Severus’ head between her clasping hands and dragged him up to meet her lips. There was no hesitation before their kiss. This was passion. This was what she had been missing, Hermione drowsily thought, as her mind slowed down to process every sensation of Severus’ body moving in tandem with hers. The missing puzzle piece that left the picture incomplete with Ron. The colossal disappointment with Charlie as he should have been what she wanted. He had been the type she was attracted to, and could rev up her engines well enough, but something had been absent in their relationship. Passion.


This was the passion. With Severus hungrily kissing her mouth until her head turned dizzy. Stealing her breath until she could only pant. The taste of aged fire whiskey on his lips tingled her tongue. It was a fine bottle with all of the fire and none of the burn and as she licked it from his lips, teeth, and tongue, Hermione recognized that her life would never again be the same. And she felt no guilt at all. Not even a bit.


Severus rolled on top of her and Hermione welcomed his weight nestled between her thighs. She wriggled her hips enough to elicit a groan from him.


She could feel his cock through her jeans, could feel the thick length, but she wanted to feel it. Severus had an earlobe between his teeth when he felt her wandering fingers push towards his crotch. He stiffened his posture, rigid atop the beautiful witch. It had been so long. So desperately long since a woman had wanted to touch his cock that he was mortified to think he might come before she reached it. Severus ground his hips into her yielding core, blocking off her mischievous hand’s access while managing to stimulate her. He was not going to embarrass himself like a school boy.


“Please,” she whispered in the voice of his fantasies. “Please can I touch it?”


Severus’ resolve was already crumbling, especially with her other hand scratching at the nape of his neck like he was some goddamned Kneezle, which was not at all right, because it made him want to fucking purr like one. And rut like one.


“Witch,” he hissed tensely, shutting his eyes tightly, shuttering her out. “Grant an old man some dignity.”


Her amused laughter was low and husky, baiting him, but not mocking. “Severus,” she crooned, her breath warming his neck, “I’ll be a good witch. I promise. A very good witch. Besides, there’s always time later for more.”


More? The word tugged a reluctant smile from his lips. There would be more. He liked more. He wasn’t certain if he could do more. Alcohol had turned his brain into a gummy marshmallow-like substance and it would be just his luck that it wouldn’t cooperate later, when there was time for more. But the promise dangled in front of him.


Before he could answer her, Hermione ground her pelvis around him wantonly. Frotting against his poor piteous trousers, goading him. Evil witch. Didn’t she know he couldn’t think when she did that. He rather suspected she did.


“Severus.” The siren sang each syllable. Her naughty hand attempted to snake between them again. Ah well. Who was he to deny a red-blooded witch her due?


Her fingers traveled the length of him, tracing over his shaft through the thin cloth. She smiled as she discovered the absence of underpants.


“I want,” she petulantly insisted, apparently finding what she sought very much to her liking. He wouldn’t begrudge her that; like most wizards, he was rather proud of what hung between his legs, and the witch could make use of the dangling bits to her little heart’s content.


“I want,” she pouted, peeling with nimble fingers his fly open, untucking his shirt and wrenching it free. He stilled her to pull the shirt over his head and tossed it to join her bra in whatever dark corner of the cell it had landed.


Severus growled low in the back of his throat. Domineering witches had been a turn off every since Bella had clawed him to shreds. He was begging to give the witch what for, but once she gently fondled his balls, he was willing to negotiate. Hermione met her cunning objective and pulled his length free from its confines. In her hands it was in a much better location, and it bobbed in hearty approval.


Turn about being fair play and all that, Severus set with single bloody minded determination to the task of ridding Hermione of those painted-on Muggle jeans. She was just as impatient and they were quickly shed. Once his drooling member and balls, aching for release, felt the contact of her hot naked thighs, he prayed for ‘more.’ Her flesh was incredibly soft to the touch and the scent of her arousal hung thick in the air. He didn’t know if he had ever had a witch so soft.


He brushed his thumb over her panty-clad pussy and found her knickers soaked, and swore. Hermione writhed against him, butting her hips into his hand and squeezing his cockhead. Damned demanding witches. She wanted to come? He could make her come. Severus bit the join of her neck and shoulders, ignoring her high pitched wail that would undoubtedly be heard down the echoing corridors.


His fingers slid past her curls and inconvenient knickers to find her damp button. His thumb pressed on it, and circled it a few times before mercilessly sliding the slickened skin up and down. One, then two long fingertips located her slit and dipped into her heat, coming out drenched. Grunting and grinding his teeth with the effort not to let loose completely as she fisted him quite roughly, he thrust himself into her greedy hand. Severus found the spongy patch of her pink swollen cunt he was looking for, and proceeded to rub it in cadence with her clit. Her grip on him tightened as Hermione twitched and shook beneath him heaving in loud shallow pants. Severus pushed himself up higher on one elbow.


He had to see this if nothing else. If by morning she was disgusted by him, he needed to witness this. By the faintest light of a near moonless sky Hermione Granger exploded in a mass of spasms around his fingers, her hot juices filling his palm. Her eyes squinted shut and she fucking sobbed his name. His name.


Severus spilled himself in her hands and across her thighs, marking her, until he had nothing left.


Or at least he believed he had nothing left until later when she shed her knickers and roused him from a boneless slumber. They both were quite pleased to discover that parts of his anatomy were very happy to accommodate her. The second time she tried to wake him up, he wasn’t budging. It wasn’t like he was some kind of sex god.


“Go back to bed, H’miny,” he muttered to the frizzy, tousle-haired witch curled against him. “Abuse me later,” he mumbled.


His mantra in life had been an old Russian proverb, ‘If you wake up in pain, you know you’re not dead.’ He knew that in the morning he would rise to the heaven of having his fresh curvy witch in his arms. But if she awoke and rejected him, it would kill him. He was sure of it. But he didn’t think she would. He had made her twitch and sing.


There would be more. Of that he was nearly certain. The Gods be praised.


A/N:
Chapter title: Scriptor Ventus Fabula Madidus - The scribe's favorite story of drunks (blame Christev)

Finally, a true SS/HG. It was bound to happen eventually. Actually, blame my beta Christev20 for this whole chapter. Go ahead. And she's already promised ciggies for everyone. Thank you Christev!

Thanks for reading luvs. AV