Silk Stalkings

DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. I simply make them do naughty things.

A/N - Yummy Yummy Yummy, Leather-clad Snape on her tummy.

Enjoy, (and don't forget to review)

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

Chapter Four- Of Corset Had To Happen

“What?” Hermione asked, tipping her ear towards him.

Snape scowled heavily; his head was already throbbing and they had just walked in the door. “I said, ‘Is this really necessary?’”

The music rose to blaring level, a heavy back beat making his whole chest vibrate with the rhythms of it. The horrid noise was even worse than the racket of the Underground they had taken to get here.

“WHAT?” she bellowed.

“Nevermind!” he shouted in response.

“What a ridiculous thing to say!” she hollered back at him over the thumping bass of the speaker nearby. “Of course I’m not blind!”

Hermione heard him groan loudly as she turned and made a motion to indicate that she was getting a drink at the bar. She smirked to herself. She certainly wasn’t blind. And neither was she deaf, for that matter. She had, in fact, heard every word the man had uttered; it had simply struck her as poetic justice that she could put him in a situation where he felt completely vulnerable and out of place.

“Getting a little of mine own back after seven years of Potions hell,” she said to herself as they reached the bar.

“What?” he hollered again, leaning in towards her.

She placed her mouth near his ear and said, “I said, I think it’s quieter near thck, ck, but you can never really tell!”

He frowned, but seemed satisfied with the explanation. When the bartender meandered over to them, Hermione bit her lip, eyed Severus (who was watching her with an eyebrow raised, as if the situation was a challenge), and then figured ‘What the hell? ’

“Long Island Iced Tea,” she ordered confidently.
Severus smirked and held up two fingers to the bartender. As soon as the bartender returned, two of the tall, thin, frosted glasses in hand, Hermione reached down to dig through her handbag for the money she stashed away. She nearly spilled the drink on herself in surprise as Severus nonchalantly tossed down a few pounds to cover the drinks and a tip for the barkeep. Her jaw was hanging open a few centimeters as he picked up his drink, laid a hand on the small of her back, and steered her towards one of the high-backed booths at the rear of the club.
She really was in mild agony. Hermione hated the loud, smoky atmosphere of most clubs or bars and she rarely, if ever, went out to places like this. In fact, if not for the infrequent pleas of Ron or Ginny that she had ‘no life to speak of at all,’ she would not have even known of this place’s existence. As she slid into the booth that she was thankful she couldn’t quite see the floor of, she mentally berated herself for feeling so smug that she had to take Snape to one of these horrid establishments. Hermione picked up her drink and sipped in silence, trying to give the illusion that she was simply enjoying the music.

Much to her surprise, Severus seemed to be dutifully taking up his role as the careful student, as he had chosen to seat himself at the middle of the semi-circular booth, staring out at the dance floor. Every now and then he would shake his head minutely and sigh. Hermione had much the same feeling that she was extrapolating from his incredulous and disdainful stares and head shaking, but she would have stripped naked and swum in her drink before allowing him to realize that she felt that way.

After a few moments of complete silence (from conversation, at least), Hermione began to gulp her drink rather than the lady-like sips she had been attempting previously. If she was going to be endure a night of Snape, she may as well be tipsy … it would make things a good deal easier.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered eventually – as Hermione was killing her third drink. He was still staring out at the people on the floor.

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” Hermione replied, slightly put out that his first remark was a criticism. Not that this surprised her. But it didn’t exactly thrill her.

“Thanks for the drink,” she muttered distractedly as she watched him watching the dancers. True, he hadn’t paid for the one she was currently drinking, but as she highly doubted that he had noticed her two separate trips to the bar, she figured she’d keep at least that much of her dignity.

“Hmm?” he asked, turning back to her.

“Drink,” she said a little louder and raised her glass in case he hadn’t caught her remark. He nodded just a tad and stared at her expectantly. Never one to stay silent at such a moment, Hermione felt pressured to continue. “I really didn’t think you had the manners to back up your breeding,” she said, smirking. “What a felicitous surprise.”

Snape merely raised an eyebrow and returned his gaze to the dance floor. “Absurd,” he said after a moment or two, “the way these muggles heave themselves against each other inse mse mad little hovels. Why don’t they simply cut through the hassle and just have at each other like the hormone-crazed animals they so strikingly resemble.”

Hermione felt a wicked tingle enter her brain and she couldn’t fight the urge to respond nastily. “Oh you’re just jealous that you can’t dance, I’d wager,” she said smugly.

He turned his attention slowly (and dramatically) back to her face. “If that’s what you consider dancing, I most certainly can.”

It was Hermione’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Oh please, Miss Granger,” he said, continuing despite her groan at his formality, “what they are doing resembles nothing more than sexual intercourse, only vertically and with clothes in the way. I assure you,” he sneered down at her, “I have a certain command over the necessary knowledge required to do that.”

Before she knew what was coming out of her mouth, Hermione heard her voice reply, “Prove it!”
Without a word, Snape slid from the booth and stood next to the table. With an eager glint of challenge in his eyes, he extended a hand down to her, which she used to hoist herself to her feet. When his smirk deepened as she adjusted her skirt and top, Hermione had a sinking feeling that she would be fishing her whole leg – let alone just the foot – out of her mouth before long.


*****

Much to Hermione’s surprise, Snape led her to a darker, more shadowed corner of the dance floor. She had firmly expected that if he were so confident at his abilities, Snape would seek to ‘show her up’ as publicly as possible. But instead, he chose a corner that just barely contained any dancers. As they moved towards each other, the music slowed to a heavy, thumping beat of a song she recognized from her summers home in the Muggle world.

The thick pulse of it reminded her of a heartbeat, deep, thrumming, and constant. The singer’s words were blurred at their remote spot and all that existed as she moved closer to him were the rhythmic pounding beats and the steady, repetitious accompaniment. Hermione looked up into Snape’s face, suddenly terrified, as he pulled her close to him. This song – in both tempo and tone – would not allow for distanced, fast dancing. Oh no, she thought, with a certain smacking of irony. No, I had to challenge him just when “Closer” came on.

Whether by a complete stroke of dumb luck on his part or whether somehow, beyond her possibility of understanding, he had planned it, just as the singer could be heard saying “I want to feel you from the inside,” Snape planted one foot firmly between her slightly parted legs, snaked an arm around her waist, and dragged her body against his hip so smoothly and sleekly that she was gasping audibly with surprise.

Her left inner thigh was sliding, in a deliciously wicked manner, up and down the supple leather of his pants as he rolled his hips in time to the backbeat of the music. Her body rolled with him naturally, pressing against his side from her chest to her knees. She was flabbergasted to find that the feel of his thin but muscular frame against hers flared up her body temperature, making her weak-kneed and warm. He turned slightly so that she was splayed against the right side of his body, her left leg now hooking around the crook of his right knee, and she unconsciously laced her arm around his neck for balance.

Seemingly of its own accord, her right hand slithered around to his left hip. She was draped against him now, his right arm pushing at her waist, bringing her still closer. She seemed detached, almost, from the hand that snaked around his back to sink a clutching grip at his rear end. Her head was spinning in dizzy circles, feeling the hot rolling of their hips, pressed tight against each other and the waweepweep of the leather of his pants against her skin as her skirt rode higher and higher up her thighs.

His left hand was now at the nape of her neck in an oddly possessive and dominant manner, clutching and yet kneading her there, making Hermione forget that there was anything or anyone else in the room ….

The music drifted out of her head and she only noticed him. His hips … the wild, thumping of the music … the grinding of his body against hers. Weakly, she gazed up into his eyes and was mesmerized by the odd look she found there. They were hungry. Predatory, almost. And when his head came down near hers, his hand at the nape of her neck pulling gently but firmly, it only felt natural when she bent back with it, arching her back and submitting to the graceful seduction of the motion of his body. He bent forward with the moment and she was surprised and yet not surprised to feel his lips and teeth as they traveled from her ear, down her neck to nibble and nip at the pale skin just at the low-scooped top of her corset.

Her glazed eyes barely took in the upside-down world of the club. As she hung precariously from his grip, she could only recognize the feel of his teeth on the top of her breast, the increasingly wild gyrating of his pelvis, now hot against hers. Her pulse was racing as he brought her back up swiftly.
Hermione staggered as her balance shifted back upright, her nails digging into his upper arms as she clung for support. She squeaked out in surprise again as he moved so that she was now flat front on his body. Dangerously smoothly, Snape grasped her upper thigh, lifted one of her legs and hooked it around his upper thigh. As the music changed again and the beat quickened exponentially, Snape ground hard and fast against her abdomen, her skirt riding further up against her front. It was then that she realized that Snape was right. What they were doing did not so much resemble dancing as vertical, clothed sex.

It was then that Hermione shook her head quickly, looked up into Snape’s eyes and flattened her palms against his chest. She heaved herself away from him so quickly that she stumbled a few steps, knocking into people as she hurried out of the club and into the crisp night air.