Voyeur

You stand there tapping your foot impatiently. It’ve tve to eight and you want her here now. If you were Malfoy you could throw a tantrum about it, but you’re not. You are beyond that sort of pettiness. Part of you wants to make her suffer for making you wait. But it’s your fault. You could have told her to come immediately after. You were nice though and gave her time to study some before detention. She wouldn’t have much time to work on it after detention.

At eight sharp she walks dazedly into the room. You greet her but she doesn’t respond. She’s just standing there, mute, and thoughtful. You say her name again, “Miss Granger.” Still nothing, “Hermione!” At that she seems to pull back into reality.

She asks why she has to serve detentions. There has to be a better way. She suggests being your assistant. You tell her that it won’t work. She keeps protesting and soon enough you’re angrd yed yelling at her. And then she gets angry with you and you just have to kiss her, so you do. It always seems to work this way. Well, they do say that make-up sex is the best. You are inclined to agree. Perhaps that’s why you fight with her.

You guide her over to your desk, pushing aside everything on the desk. The clock almost falls but you catch it and set it down haphazardly. Several papers scatter to the ground as you push her onto the desk. You hear something click, but it’s probably just a silver stir rod falling to the ground. You prefer glass, but there are some potions that call for silver.

You kiss her with increasing passion, pulling her hips closer to meet your own. You can feel her breathing hitch as she feels your desire pressed to her craving. Since when did you become such a romantic that you have to name body parts after emotions? You’re not sure, but make a mental note to blame her for it later.

You gently pull away, not wanting to break the kiss, but you have to see her. You have to see her flushed face, her swollen lips, the longing in her eyes. You feel your robes falling off, her hands resting where the robes used to. You look lovingly at her. She gets more beautiful each passing day. Only a month until she graduates, and then you can see her when you want. You can take her to your personal quarters. You could do that now, but you’d probably fall asleep with her in your arms, and that wouldn’t be good for either of you. She’d be missed up in Gryffindor tower. Her friends would notice. And everyone would know the last person she was with was you.

You gently push her robes off her and they fall to the desk, surrounding her like a puddle of black ink. You take off her tie and throw it over your shoulder. And she’s unbuttoning your shirt. Her fingers flicking across your skin at each button. She then guides her hands slowly up your form, caressing the shirt off your shoulders. You didn’t think it was possible to caress clothing off, but you stand corrected. Soon you have her blouse joining her robe. Starched pure white against soft mysterious black, a contrast not much unlike the two of you.

You return your attentions to her mouth briefly before spreading those attentions to other areas. Within minutes you are suckling, teasing, biting, flicking her taut nipples. In the meantime you’ve managed to pull off her skirt, and it has joined the tie across the classroom. You’ve even managed to finagle out of yourts ats and kicked them aside. You enter her and she lets out a whimper of pleasure. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. But you say that every time. Your mouth is still working her nipples and she moans, “Mmmm, Severus.” That’s all the fuel you need and soon you are pumping into her like its some sort of race. You feel her inner muscles clamping around you, and you’re trying to hold out.

You can’t take it anymore and reach your hands between your bodies rapidly stroking her clitoris. You feel her muscles clamping harder as her orgasm rips through her. You hear another click but ignore it because you feel your own orgasm coming and you scream out, “Hermione. Oh, Hermione.” And you come, muscmuscles milking you for everything you’re worth.

You reluctantly pull away, not wanting to break contact, not wanting it to end. You see a worried expression cross her face and you’re sure you face is reflecting her expression. She notices this and says to you, “I think someone was here.” You’re shocked for a moment but then decide it makes sense. You’re amused at the fact that someone watched you. There’s a voyeur in Hogwarts, that’s for sure. Anyone else would have run to get Dumbledore, or had it been someone on staff they would have stopped you ages ago. You could worry yourself over that, or you could spend more time making love to ioneione. You choose the second option.