Anticipation
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,729
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,729
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Anticipation
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognise
Anticipation
by Claudia
The dancing had made him dizzy, as had the wine and heat in the hall that accommodated the reception.
Severus was not generally a man to revel in social events, but this time it was different. First, he was obliged to participate, and second he was in the company of the loveliest witch in the world. He had left her, however, to do the small talk when it became inevitable, and he had retreated to a deserted room off the hall. His forehead was resting against the cool glass of the window. The twin wing of the window he had opened to let in some of the balmy night air. Now that spring was in the air, he apparently could not get enough of the fresh, spicy scent of the season, bursting with the sweetness of blossoms and tanginess of wet soil. He inhaled deeply.
A shadow fell on the windowsill where he was bracing himself, and a faint scent tickled his nose. Without looking up, without referring to the reflection in his closed half of the window, he knew that Hermione had come and found him. He recognised her perfume; he had composed it himself as a gift for her - not for any old, common occasion, just for the reason of the deep love he felt for her. The scent itself was a declaration of love - it accentuated her own scent, and made her blossom.
Her small hand covered his, its familiar hairs and ridges built by blue veins pulsing beneath the pale skin; so vulnerable, yet so powerful at the same time. It was the only bit of skin that he exposed, save for his face, and even now it was half-covered by the extended cuffs of his white shirt.
\"Are you all right, love?\" she asked.
She had tilted her head to the right, in contemplation and love-making to the back of his hand. He felt as well as watched her exploring the well-known ridges, knuckles and tapered length of his fingers. But his eyes dwelled on the gentle slope of her neck, where it met her shoulder, where her collarbone showed the way to her most delicious - and sensitivindeindentation of her body. A strand of her untameable hair curled around her ear, and Severus pushed it away gently before kissing that delicious point on her neck.
Hermione hummed softly to herself as Severus\' warm lips kissed her there. It was her undoing more often than not. Severus knew that just by kissing and nibbling there he could make her beg for more - if even necessary. He had been with many women before, but never had any of them proved so sensitive as Hermione. For that alone he loved her.
He trailed the tips of his fingers down her bare back. Whoever designed witches\' robes deserved an Order of Merlin First Class.
\"I\'ve been missing you,\" he rumbled into her ear, stirring the strand he had tucked back, tickling her thus.
Hermione shrank away, giggling.
Her eyes were bright and shining, even in the little light that reigned in this room. The doors were closed, and beyond them , they could hear the music and laughter and constant murmur of the wizarding folk, celebrating their spirit of charity towards War Orphans.
Severus was in the spirit of celebrating something entirely different.
\"Let me make love to you, Hermione,\" he whispered, again exciting that strand behind her ear.
Hermione merely smiled at him, but her smile had an almost sinister quality, as though she knew how naughty they would be - and how exciting she found the idea of possible discovery.
She squeezed her body betweenselfself and the windowsill. \"I\'d like to see what you do to me,\" she said, looking at him via the reflection of herself in the darkened pane.
His hands travelled down her bare shoulders. He knew that it was sheer magic that made the dress cling to her body; the back was so deeply cut that in the Muggle world it would have bared her, strapless as it was. The fabric was liquid and insubstantial at the same time, and of the corresponding colour. Her spine created a shallow gorge in the skin of her back, and he knew that following it elicited the most rewarding sounds.
His lips followed his fingers, taking their own sweet time. She tasted of salt and herself, an intoxicating mixture that even the most skilled of Potions Masters such as himself had failed to reproduce - luckily so. The tendrils of her hair tickled his forehead as she bent her head back, pressing her breasts into the massaging palms that approached from below, heralding his lips.
\"Hermione,\" he whispered, delighting in the Helenesque sound of her name. He saw no point in abbreviating it, and she was ever so grateful for that; in turn, she too desisted from shortening his name.
She felt like a witch-queen when his hands finally cupped and stroked her breasts through the material of her dress, and a long sigh escaped her, joined the sounds and fragrance of the spring air outside, inky as it was. She felt like a witch-queen when the ridge of his erection pressed into the valley between her buttocks. She even responded to his instinctive movements.
\"Look into the night, Hermione,\" Severus whispered, just before he bunched the skirt of her dress up around her waist. He found his way past her panties, past her nether lips, and with her head resting against his shoulder, he moved with her in the most ancient rhythm the world knew, totally oblivious of everything around them. Only her breathing and small sounds and the fragrances and sounds of the night mattered, as they ought.
__
Anticipation
by Claudia
The dancing had made him dizzy, as had the wine and heat in the hall that accommodated the reception.
Severus was not generally a man to revel in social events, but this time it was different. First, he was obliged to participate, and second he was in the company of the loveliest witch in the world. He had left her, however, to do the small talk when it became inevitable, and he had retreated to a deserted room off the hall. His forehead was resting against the cool glass of the window. The twin wing of the window he had opened to let in some of the balmy night air. Now that spring was in the air, he apparently could not get enough of the fresh, spicy scent of the season, bursting with the sweetness of blossoms and tanginess of wet soil. He inhaled deeply.
A shadow fell on the windowsill where he was bracing himself, and a faint scent tickled his nose. Without looking up, without referring to the reflection in his closed half of the window, he knew that Hermione had come and found him. He recognised her perfume; he had composed it himself as a gift for her - not for any old, common occasion, just for the reason of the deep love he felt for her. The scent itself was a declaration of love - it accentuated her own scent, and made her blossom.
Her small hand covered his, its familiar hairs and ridges built by blue veins pulsing beneath the pale skin; so vulnerable, yet so powerful at the same time. It was the only bit of skin that he exposed, save for his face, and even now it was half-covered by the extended cuffs of his white shirt.
\"Are you all right, love?\" she asked.
She had tilted her head to the right, in contemplation and love-making to the back of his hand. He felt as well as watched her exploring the well-known ridges, knuckles and tapered length of his fingers. But his eyes dwelled on the gentle slope of her neck, where it met her shoulder, where her collarbone showed the way to her most delicious - and sensitivindeindentation of her body. A strand of her untameable hair curled around her ear, and Severus pushed it away gently before kissing that delicious point on her neck.
Hermione hummed softly to herself as Severus\' warm lips kissed her there. It was her undoing more often than not. Severus knew that just by kissing and nibbling there he could make her beg for more - if even necessary. He had been with many women before, but never had any of them proved so sensitive as Hermione. For that alone he loved her.
He trailed the tips of his fingers down her bare back. Whoever designed witches\' robes deserved an Order of Merlin First Class.
\"I\'ve been missing you,\" he rumbled into her ear, stirring the strand he had tucked back, tickling her thus.
Hermione shrank away, giggling.
Her eyes were bright and shining, even in the little light that reigned in this room. The doors were closed, and beyond them , they could hear the music and laughter and constant murmur of the wizarding folk, celebrating their spirit of charity towards War Orphans.
Severus was in the spirit of celebrating something entirely different.
\"Let me make love to you, Hermione,\" he whispered, again exciting that strand behind her ear.
Hermione merely smiled at him, but her smile had an almost sinister quality, as though she knew how naughty they would be - and how exciting she found the idea of possible discovery.
She squeezed her body betweenselfself and the windowsill. \"I\'d like to see what you do to me,\" she said, looking at him via the reflection of herself in the darkened pane.
His hands travelled down her bare shoulders. He knew that it was sheer magic that made the dress cling to her body; the back was so deeply cut that in the Muggle world it would have bared her, strapless as it was. The fabric was liquid and insubstantial at the same time, and of the corresponding colour. Her spine created a shallow gorge in the skin of her back, and he knew that following it elicited the most rewarding sounds.
His lips followed his fingers, taking their own sweet time. She tasted of salt and herself, an intoxicating mixture that even the most skilled of Potions Masters such as himself had failed to reproduce - luckily so. The tendrils of her hair tickled his forehead as she bent her head back, pressing her breasts into the massaging palms that approached from below, heralding his lips.
\"Hermione,\" he whispered, delighting in the Helenesque sound of her name. He saw no point in abbreviating it, and she was ever so grateful for that; in turn, she too desisted from shortening his name.
She felt like a witch-queen when his hands finally cupped and stroked her breasts through the material of her dress, and a long sigh escaped her, joined the sounds and fragrance of the spring air outside, inky as it was. She felt like a witch-queen when the ridge of his erection pressed into the valley between her buttocks. She even responded to his instinctive movements.
\"Look into the night, Hermione,\" Severus whispered, just before he bunched the skirt of her dress up around her waist. He found his way past her panties, past her nether lips, and with her head resting against his shoulder, he moved with her in the most ancient rhythm the world knew, totally oblivious of everything around them. Only her breathing and small sounds and the fragrances and sounds of the night mattered, as they ought.
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