A Victorious Draw

As always, big, big thank yous to Wildcatcdc and Sc010f!!

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Hermione woke slowly. She rolled onto her back, stretching and arching before slumping back into the bed. She pulled the duvet a bit higher until she was buried to her chin. She smiled, something she hadn’t done in many a morning. She wasn’t quite sure why she felt so rested and relaxed. She’d dreamt more than usual the night before, and while she didn’t remember her dreams with any sense of clarity, she knew they were good dreams, bringing her a measure of calm and comfort.

She stayed in bed a few moments more, hoping that some remnant of a dream would come back. And then she remembered his voice, whispering in her ear.

Oh gods, she thought, that voice. She admitted that Severus Snape’s voice was the gods’ gift to make up for his nasty disposition. She remembered more than one occasion where her knickers had actually become damp while listening to his lectures in his Advanced Potions classes, which were more theory than practical application. In those classes, when one was expected to sit and pay attention, she’d found herself distracted, not only by that smooth deep voice, but also by his physicality, the fluid motions of his body as he moved across the front of the room and his hands, oh god, his hands, she thought again, as they pointed to an equation written on the blackboards or some imaginary cauldron. That they were in constant motion in these classes shouldn’t have surprised her. They were never still when the students were brewing, either. Severus was used to keeping his body, hands and mouth in perpetual motion.

Is he like that with a woman, as well? Hermione stilled. Had she really just thought that? Severus Snape with a woman? With a lover? Her panties dampened at the thought. Hermione smiled sleepily. It is a glorious a morning, she thought. It’s Saturday, I’ve nowhere to be and no one expecting me. She closed her eyes.

Once again, she was in her Potions classroom, but she was no longer a student, and she wasn’t attending a lecture. He was in the front of the room, stowing away his lecture materials and handouts, it appeared. She walked up the aisle, waiting for him to lift his head. He went through the motions of tidying his desk, giving no indication that he was aware of her, but she knew better. He’d spent too many years as a spy not to be aware of anyone in his space. When he’d finished his busy work, he straightened, rounded the corner and leaned his hip against the hard wood, folding his arms across his chest. He was clad in his lecturing attire, a lightweight, close-fitting black half-robe, similar to a waistcoat, which he had unbuttoned as he worked. A green button-down shirt was tucked into his wool trousers that sat low on his waist. A black, leather belt and silver buckle drew attention to how low-slung his hips were, a fact she noted with appreciation.

All he needed was a black Stetson and hip holster, and he’d be a gunslinger, Hermione thought wildly, remembering her father’s collection of Clint Eastwood movies.

Severus’ eyes traveled up her body as she stood in the aisle in front of her. In her bed, Hermione glided her hands over her pajamas. It was her habit to sleep in pajamas since her school days of sleeping in a drafty dorm room. She let her hands travel from her neck to her breasts, running her fingertips lightly over the sensitive flesh. Her skin tingled from the feather-light contact, and her pink nipples began to pebble, even before she gently ran her fingernails across them. She imagined her nipples hardening under the stare of her former Professor.

The barely-there bra under her cashmere sweater did nothing to conceal her body’s reaction, on display for him. He said nothing, but his eyebrow arched. With approval, she hoped. As she made her way to stand in front of him, he stood straight and dropped his arms to his sides.

“Ms. Granger,” Severus crooned, “I’m pleased that you could meet with me this afternoon.” With that, he turned and began walking away from her, stopping halfway across the room to look back where she stood. He stretched out his hand, as if he meant her to take it, and she quickly crossed to his side. Instead of taking her hand in his, he settled it at the base of her spine, splayed so that he could feel the indent at her hips and the protrusion of her lower spine.

Hermione slipped her hands under her pajama top. Her nipples tightened further, and her fingers found them, plucking and pinching lightly, delighted with the corresponding bursts of pleasure in her quim. She grasped her pajama bottoms and slid them down her legs, letting them gather around her ankles. With her knees bent, she let her legs spread on the bed. How cool her cotton sheets felt on her overheated flesh. How deliciously her bottom slid across the smooth material as her fingers began running lightly up and down the soft pale flesh of her inner thighs, edging closer and closer to the wet heat of her pussy.

Severus guided her into his sitting room, where he removed his half-robe to hang it on a thin coat stand in the corner. “May I offer you a drink, Ms. Granger?” he asked, and Hermione fidgeted with the bottom of her sweater, running the material under her fingernail in a nervous gesture she acquired since leaving school.

“Yes, thank you,” Hermione replied softly, “whatever you are having will be fine.”

With a small nod, Severus turned and poured two glasses of red wine. With glasses in hand, he nodded to the broad sofa, indicating she should sit, then handed her the wine. He settled in next to her, his arm over the back, close to enough for him to play with the ends of her hair.

“It was suggested that I have a glass of red wine at the end of my day,” Severus began conversationally while his finger gently stroked her neck, “for relaxation and for the health of my heart. It had been damaged over the years from various curses, you see.” He paused to take a sip of the lush red liquid, and Hermione did the same, savoring the bite of the tannins, as a shiver ran down her spine at Severus’ gentle touch.

“Your heart, is it weak?” Hermione asked tentatively.

Severus smiled devilishly and took the glass from her hand. Setting them on the side table, he took her by the shoulders and pulled her to him.

“Not in the least,” he murmured before capturing her mouth in a branding kiss.

Hermione envisioned Severus kissing her, stealing her breath as his mouth traveled down her check to her neck where he laved the skin before sucking gently, making her moan in excitement.

He reached up to cup her breast and squeezed gently, learning the shape, letting it fill his hand. When he ran his thumb across her nipple, she drew a quick breath and wetness pooled between her thighs. She pressed her breast into his hand and was rewarded when he palmed the other breast, as well. She placed her hands on his thighs for leverage and squeezed.

Instantly, a hand went to the back of her neck and hauled her closer, dragging her into his lap. She was lying across his legs, and he bent low to kiss her breast through her sweater. His hot breath scorched through the soft material a second before he whispered the spell to remove it. He leered at the inconsequential scrap of lace that barely covered her nipples. Sliding his finger under the material, he pulled it down and covered her flesh with his mouth. She arched her back, eager for the contact. Splayed as she was before him, with his arm crooked under her neck for support, his hand left her breast and traveled down to her belly, lightly tracing his fingers down her ribcage, tickling her and making her gasp once again.

His hand dipped lower, into that concave space between her pelvic bones, running his fingertips back and forth, lower and lower, slipping beneath her slacks. She thrust her hips, hoping her aim was true and his hand would cover her, finally.

Hermione’s fingers found her pussy. She traced her labia gently with her fingers before sliding her fingers through the folds and skimming her clit, drawing a moan, much like the Severus in her fantasy.

Severus’ hand finally, finally, touched her where she most wanted, and he wasn’t delicate or searching. His hand covered her hot, wet pussy, his palm pressing into her clit, rubbing and sliding along the wet, slippery flesh. Severus sought out her opening, inserting first one then two fingers, rocking back and forth along her wet cunt until Hermione was moving and thrusting with him in sync, point and counterpoint, her need building and building. Hermione found her breast and began tweaking and pulling at her nipples, twisting and pinching until in time with the thrusting fingers.

Hermione, in the throes of her fantasy, was doing much the same thing, her fingers on one hand were buried deep within her while the other was at her breast, kneading and pulling, catching her nipples between her fingers, flicking and tweaking them.

As Severus began thrusting his fingers deeper and deeper, so did Hermione until she came, shuddering and gasping Severus’ name. Her hand slowed, her clit so sensitive that the slightest caress by her thumb caused her to jerk and twitch.

Eventually, her heartbeat slowed, and Hermione became fully awake, fully aware of what had transpired, both during the night in her dreams and of the last fifteen minutes.

She’d orgasmed for Severus Snape. He’d made her come long and hard, longer and harder than Viktor or Ron had ever caused her to.

Oh my gods, she thought. Out of the frying pan, indeed!