Pleasant Dreams

Author: Ubiquitous Mixie
Title: Pleasant Dreams (though it may have formerly been called Euphoria - thanks to ff.net, I don’t know)
Rating: Nc-17
Pairing: Snape/Hermione
Spoilers: None…this was written a few years ago without any reference to the novels.
Disclaimers: As much as I’d like to claim the characters as my own, they do not belong to me. They belong to the lovely J.K. Rowling
Authors Notes: Review!

***

The room was pitch black. The curtains pulled over the small windows prevented the pale moonlight from filtering into the room and emitting its eerie, pale glow. She silently thanked the gods again for being given her own room as he slipped her nightshirt off her shoulders.

His long fingers trailed down the length of her arms, leaving a path of goosebumps behind. She shivered under his touch. Never before had any man sent her body into such a frenzy with just a light touch. She could only imagine how it would feel to wrap her legs around him and beg him to take her.

His mouth captured her wrist—always a sensitive spot for her. His tongue caressed the smooth skin as his long, dark hair tickled her bare arms. Her body shivered as he increased the pressure ever so slightly, and she let out a small moan.

He looked up then; her small blue eyes meeting his dark, cloudy, black ones. Heat surged between them; the electricity they created amazed her—never before had she felt such an obvious physical attraction to a man.

His lips trailed to her palm and he lapped hungrily at her clammy skin. Her free hand touched his chest, still covered in the black robes that were camouflaged in the darkness of the room. Her hand moved across his broad chest, feeling his lungs expanding with each sharp intake of breath. His lips curled around her index finger, causing her own sharp intake of breath. The wild sensations driving through her body were driving her crazy. She couldn’t take his teasing any longer.

With as much force as she could muster, she pulled her hand back possessively and drew it around his neck underneath his mane of thick, dark hair. She pulled his head down to hers and without waiting kissed him passionately. His silky voice filled the room in a long moan as her tongue swept over his bottom lip, pulling it into her mouth. She sucked until he inserted his tongue, reclaiming his lip. His tongue grazed hers with such force that she gripped his shoulder with her free hand.

He pressed their bodies together and pushed her back into the wall underneath the window with a thud. A quick, sharp pain jabbed as her elbow hit the wall. Her back tugged against the window; the small creaking of the iron pole warning her that it would not hold under so much pressure. She paid no attention to this or her throbbing elbow: her thoughts and emotions were being poured into this man that was tasting and exploring every inch of her mouth. She groaned.

They kissed until her mouth felt raw and bruised. Never before had any man kissed her with so much passion. After tasting his sweet mouth she vowed never to kiss another man. No substitute could provoke such feelings to stir within her.

He released her mouth, allowing his tongue to brush against the skin of her neck. He suckled a small patch of skin; sucking so hard that she felt he’d leave a permanent mark. She cared not of her appearance; she hoped he’d left a mark for all to see, to serve as a reminder of this night of unrequited passion. His mouth grew bored with this spot and moved to another tasty section of her body. He blew softly against her chest, causing her nipples to harden all the more. She could almost see him smirking at the sight in the darkness. She glanced in the direction of her bed: her wand lay on the nightstand, but was too far away to reach. Without it she was unable to whisper ‘lumos’ and create a small pool of light. She wanted to see his face, to see his reaction as he committed her body into his memory. She was tempted to retrieve it, but the thought of loss of contact was unthinkable.

His hot hands covered her average sized breasts, fitting perfectly underneath his palms. His thumbs brushed the skin between them, and her eyelids fluttered as he pulled his fingers away and lowered his face to her chest. In one quick motion he sucked one rosy red nipple into his mouth.

His tongue curled around the small nub, gently lavishing it with soft caresses. She snaked her hands into his hair, allowing her fingers to tangle within it. His teeth delicately grazed her flesh, sending shockwaves throughout her body. A familiar sensation rolled in her stomach and she could feel her underwear damp with desire. She loved how he was making her feel. How he was paying her body so much attention. Never before had any man taken the time to learn the tastes and textures and curves of her body; they were almost always after two things: her vagina or her mind. Not that her mind posed as a problem. She knew she was brilliant and was proud of her intelligence. And so did everyone else. But sometimes it was such a burden to be smart; everyone wanted her to help them study or to lend them her homework for them to copy. Or those who were actually interested in her never once thought about foreplay. They had roughly touched and squeezed her breasts and smothered her with rushed kisses only to get into her underwear. Never before had any man sent her body into orgasm, yet she knew that this time it would be different.

His tongue darted underneath the swell of her breast, moving down her stomach. He drew lazy circles around her bellybutton. She strengthened her hold on his hair and directed him lower.

He resisted—she realized he desired to lead, not she. Reluctantly she gave in and held on to the little self-control she possessed. She was unsure of herself; she did not know how much longer her body would hold out before giving in to waves of intense passion.

He hooked his fingers around the elastic of her panties and drew them slowly down, grazing her hips and thighs with his rough knuckles. His head remained stationary. She could hear him breathing deeply, lungs expanding and nostrils flaring. She became self-conscious, but heard no complaints from him as his tongue slithered through her thick mat of hair. His fingers lingered along the insides of her thighs, running slowly up and down her skin. His tongue went lower, finally making its way to the aching area she longed for him to stay. His fingers joined his mouth in an intense exploration of her most intimate area.

She felt helpless as she relinquished her body to him. She knew he wanted to take his time, and she thanked the gods infinitely for this, but now the only coherent thoughts she could muster were begging for him to take her. And, as if reading her mind, he quickened his pace. His tongue slid along her slit, his fingers moving to pry apart her labia. He blew his cool breath inside of her, and she let out a long shiver. A tingling sensation enveloped her as she eagerly anticipated what was to come.

His tongue proceeded to massage her folds, not paying any specific part too much attention until he reached her clitoris. He circled the small nub as he had done with her nipple and managed to hear a sharp gasp escaping her lips. He increased pressure and stroked it faster as the tension built up within her. His fingers, which had been still, began stroking her opening. Her hands rubbed his neck and shoulders as passion mounted. Her eyelids began to flutter as the tip of his index finger pushed slightly inside of her.

She groaned louder and he continued, pushing the finger completely inside. She gasped and almost laughed at the extreme pleasure he was giving her, but those thoughts were quickly erased as he began moving his finger deeper. He withdrew it, and before she could object he dove in again, this time with two.

She pressed her back harder against the wall and pushed her face closer to him, anxious for him to go harder. He responded by raking his teeth over her clitoris. She moaned, louder yet, and dug her fingers into his back. He added another finger, and she found that she could no longer hold on. The tension that had been swelling erupted into sweet waves of passion and euphoria.

She screamed loudly and thrashed against him as pools of pleasure took over her body. She shut her eyes, relishing the feelings of her orgasm.

As her climax subsided, she felt her body go limp. Her vaginal opening was contracting as he withdrew his fingers and allowed her to slump to the floor. As she did the curtain rod surrendered its attempt to hold and gave in, tumbling to the floor beside her.

She opened her eyes to see, with the aid of the pale moonlight, Severus Snape wiping her fluids from his lips.


***
Hermione Granger’s eyelids shot open. Her eighteen-year-old body was drenched in sweat and her underwear was a bit more than soaked. A shiver snaked its way down her spine.

She looked at the wall clock and noted that it was one in the morning. Grabbing her wand, she muttered ‘lumos’ and got out of bed. Looking in the mirror, she saw that her face was flushed and speckles of sweat glistened on her otherwise clear forehead.

Hermione moved back to her bed, sitting. She recounted her dream, step by exotic step and disbelief swelled in her mind. Had she actually been dreaming about her Potions Professor?

There was no doubt in her mind that the man in her dream was he. His eyes burned brightly in her skull. She could never forget those eyes. How cold they were during his classes, yet, how warm they seemed in her dream. She had never paid much attention, but had he ever looked at her that way?

No, impossible, she thought. He was a teacher and she a 7th year at Hogwarts. Not to mention the fact that he loathed her as he did any student who wasn’t a Slytherin. He had never shown any kindness towards her, nor to anyone for that matter.

She was pleased to observe that she was not as mean as he was and possessed less hostile feelings for him. Sure, he constantly barked insults and cared not for her intelligence (a first for Hermione), but she always thought of herself as a better person and did not despise those who despised her.

In a way she admired Snape. How he kept a certain face no doubt used to keep others away. She knew he was a man who enjoyed his privacy, and therefor secluded himself. She wondered what he was like under the cool exterior, under the façade…

But most of all, Hermione admired Snape’s intelligence. Once you looked past the cold glare and the snide remarks, anyone could easily tell that he was one of the most brilliant wizards to teach at Hogwarts. With Potions, while there was much to learn, there was a limitation to the subject. But, with Defense Against Dark Arts, there were so many things to teach and learn and experience. She couldn’t blame him for wanting that job, nor could she blame him for resenting other teachers who had held it. Yet still, even with Potions, she considered herself extremely lucky to have had the chance to take his classes.

Sometimes, sitting in his classroom listening to his silky voice explain a new potion to be tested, she’d imagine the information and knowledge that he possessed. She yearned to climb inside his head and soak up everything he knew. When she compared herself to Snape, she felt she held to IQ of Neville Longbottom.

She stood, feeling increasingly uncomfortable, and decided that a long bath would clear her head. Grabbing a towel, she headed from her door and quietly entered the Gryffindor common room. She walked past the Gryffindor bathrooms and, careful not to wake the Fat Lady, headed instead for a bathroom in another section of the school. She knew there she’d receive the privacy she craved.

She walked quietly up the staircase, careful not to alert the attention of Filch or Mrs. Norris. She couldn’t bear to think of what the consequences would be if she, Head Girl, were caught. How convenient it would be to own an Invisibility Cloak like Harry. She continued swiftly, yet silently, down a long corridor which would lead to a set of bathrooms.

Her nightgown caught on the handle of a classroom, causing her to utter a short gasp. She stood, not moving, and listened to see if anyone had heard. Her heart was pounding as she unhooked herself. The thought never occurred to her, as she entered the girls’ bathroom, to use the Gryffindor bathroom to avoid being caught.

Torches lit as she entered the room, and she smiled knowing she was the only person in the room. She looked around the room. It was much like the Gryffindor’s, only the colouring was different. Instead of the scarlet and gold décor, the room was bathed in light and dark blues. She walked past the toilets and sinks and a large portrait of two sleeping fish into a connecting room, where there were five bathtubs, each separated by blue velvet curtains.

She headed into one of these sections, pulling the curtain round till she was completely enclosed. She placed her towel on an invisible hook that was suspended next to three invisible shelves that were enchanted to position themselves according to the witch’s height. The highest shelf held different types of body wash, shampoos, lotions, and bath beads. The middle held washcloths, shavers, and even a hair net. The bottom shelf held the current edition of the Daily Prophet. Hermione smiled at the amount of work the house-elves put into up-keep of the bathroom as she pulled off her nightshirt. She peeled her underwear off, sat on the edge of the bathtub, and uttered the words ‘comfortably hot.’

Instantly, the spout (sculptured to portray a fish) began pouring hot water into the tub from it’s mouth. She poured jasmine scented beads into the tub and touched the water with her finger as it quickly filled. Once it reached a certain height, the fish’s mouth closed and the water stopped flowing. She threw a leg over the side, and then the other, before she lowered herself fully into the bathtub.

The slight stinging of the hot water enveloped her body but it soon grew accustomed to it. Leaning her head against the edge, she closed her eyes and let the silky aroma fill the air.

Images of Snape filled her head and a familiar internal heat filled her. She shifted uncomfortably, crossing her legs, her knee protruding from the water. In the inner dungeons of her mind she allowed the thoughts to roam free, comforted that here no one would learn of the erotic and inappropriate thoughts of her Potions professor.

She thought of him in class, standing behind his desk as his hands worked in deft movements to create a perfect solution. His black eyes never broke concentration, even as he shook his head slightly to shake his hair from his face. He spoke quietly to himself, muttering ingredients and directions out of habit. And without an ounce of humiliation, she imagined his hands working not on a potion, but on herself. She imagined his cool touch on her thighs, her stomach, her breasts; shivers ran down her spine.

She opened her eyes, looking over at the shelves, which had lowered. She selected a small bottle of jasmine body wash and a washcloth. Unscrewing the cap, she poured the pink soap onto the washcloth. She put the body wash back on the shelf once screwed, and rubbed the washcloth against her outstretched arm.

She washed her body, concentrating on certain spots more than others, until her body was clean and covered in the rich jasmine scent. She rinsed the cloth, placed it back onto the shelf, and selected a small bottle of shampoo and poured some into the palm of her hand. She put it back on the shelf and rubbed the shampoo into her hair.

Working it into a lather, she closed her eyes and massaged her scalp with her fingertips. Gathering her thick, unruly hair, she rubbed it between her soapy fingers.

Hermione closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and fell below the surface of the water. She rubbed the soap out of her hair, replacing her hands with Snape’s in her imagination. She could see him perfectly, leaning over the bathtub as he kneaded her hair. She could see him trail his fingers down her neck and down the length of her spine with one hand as he took the washcloth with the other. Gently he washed her back, running the cloth over her skin in smooth circles.

Hermione came up for air, opening her eyes. She stood and stepped out of the tub, listening to it drain itself as she toweled herself dry. She took her hair between her hands, wringing the water out as best she could. She wrapped the towel around her smooth, clean skin and grabbed her clothes.

Feeling refreshed, she decided she’d sleep better than before. But what to do about these dreams? She couldn’t simply let them lie; they’d aroused too much within her and she believed they would not be so easy to replace. How easy it would be if the man were someone else. Ron perhaps, or Harry. She knew that they looked at her differently in the corner of their eyes: the evidence was clear underneath their robes. But no, instead the one man she desired was the one man she could not have. For a few weeks, anyway, until her school days ended.

And it was not a matter of age that held them apart. She was eighteen, legal, yet she knew Snape would never defy Hogwarts rules and have student-teacher relations. That was, considering, he wanted her as well.

Hermione pushed open the bathroom door, looking both ways down the hall before stepping outside.

She had just about reached the staircase when she heard footsteps behind her. She knew she’d been spotted; who wouldn’t notice a 7th year walking around wrapped in a towel at two in the morning? She only prayed it was McGonagall, not Filch, who would catch her. She stood, paralyzed, her hair dripping onto the floor, as she awaited the person behind her to speak. But what came next was nothing she had been preparing for.

“A bit far from the Gryffindor bathrooms, aren’t we, Miss Granger?” said the silky voice behind her.

A considerable blush coloured her skin as her body reacted to his voice. Slowly she turned to meet the eyes of her Potions Master.

Not a coherent thought came to mind as she looked at him, stunned at the way fate decided to behave. Why tonight, of all nights, had it been he who found her? Unfortunately, she was having trouble trying to find out why this was a bad thing. Perhaps it could work to her advantage.

“And you’re far from your quarters as well.”

“A challenge. One I’m going to have to decline. Now, why don’t you tell me why you are out and about at this time.”

“I thought a stroll would be nice,” she said, looking at him intensely. The poorly lit halls made it near impossible for her to see him.

“At two a.m.?”

“I’m an early riser.”

“And dressed in only a towel?”

The clouds lifted, and through a large window across the hall a pool of light filled the corridor. She could see him clearly now, wearing his black robes and a thin smile. The steely glare in his eyes was missing, however, and was replaced with something she couldn’t quite place.

She watched his eyes sweep over her, taking her in. Her wet hair clung to her face, dripping silently down her skin. The cool droplets were welcomed by her hot skin. The towel did not leave much to the imagination. He could see the top swell of her breasts and much of her uncovered thighs. She watched as he thoroughly looked her over.

“I got hot…needed to cool off,” she answered at last. “And tell me, professor, what are you doing out of bed so late?”

“Looking for you.”

The words hung in the tension filled air like helium-filled balloons. She understood now the look in his eyes. It was desire, matching hers with equal fire. She reached up with the hand that was holding the towel in place and tucked his hair behind his ear. She noticed his nostrils flare as they filled with the luxurious jasmine scent, and she allowed her hand to linger on his cheek, burning it’s way down his cheekbones.

She could feel the knot of the towel coming loose, but did not use the hand holding her clothes to hold it up. As her fingers traced the slight cleft in his chin, the towel gave up resistance and fell to a puddle around her feet.

He caught his breath as his eyes hungrily devoured the sight of her. The curves of her late-developing breasts, the flat plain of her stomach, the round shape of her hips, her dark brown hair covering her mound, her creamy white thighs. She felt herself blush under his surveillance, but found she craved the feeling. The familiar dampness bloomed between her thighs, and she found herself aching for his touch once again.

She began tracing the outlines of his lips with her index finger. How soft and smooth they felt; she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. As she licked her lips, his sudden movement caught her by surprise.

His hand took hers forcefully, pulling it away from his lips. She gasped in shock and suddenly felt overwhelmingly embarrassed. She had made a fool out of herself again, only this time she felt she wanted to crawl into a hole and die. But before she could move to grab her towel and run, he pressed his lips against her wrist, as if somehow knowing he did this in her dream.

Her knees weakened under his touch. His tongue flicked over the skin, rough tongue grating against the smooth skin. He greedily gnawed at her flesh, kissing and sucking until Hermione felt she couldn’t stand it anymore.

She dropped her clothes and pulled her hand back, moving them to the sides of his face before capturing his lips in a heated kiss. She shoved him back against the wall and pressed her naked body against him, probing his mouth with her tongue.

Severus did not object to her forcefulness. His hands coiled around her waist as he pushed his mouth into hers, sending her tongue deeper into his mouth. His tongue prodded hers with equal force; they fought like two snakes over territory. Finally, she relented and allowed him access to her own mouth, allowing her hands to roam his hard chest. He explored her mouth voraciously, drinking her in. She moaned loudly into his throat.

She rubbed her body against his, feeling his erection through his robes. Feverishly she undid his buttons as his hands clawed at her firm ass. He squeezed the skin of her bare bottom and raked his nails up the length of her back, where he finally broke the kiss.

He looked down at her with a raw, animal hunger in his eyes. Gasping for breath, she reached down and grabbed his erect penis. A look of pure pleasure clouded his face as he reached down and covered her hand with his own, pulling it back up to his chest. In one swift motion he picked her up, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and he carried her into the room closest to them: the Transfiguration classroom.

Snape kicked the door shut behind them, muttering a locking charm as he placed Hermione on one of the wooden tables with a smack. She did not release her hold on him.

He savagely attacked her neck with his lips, kissing with the same rough passion he showed her mouth. Having finally undone the buttons of his robes, she pushed them off his shoulders, using her feet to push them to his feet. She then worked his shirt over his head, allowing it to drop onto a chair.

Snape, meanwhile, was sucking the skin just above her breasts. His hands were somewhere around her waist, touching every inch of skin he could reach. Her body cried out for him, needing him to be touching her throbbing center.

Her fingers worked quickly with the snap of his pants, and shortly after he was standing before her naked and sweating and searing with mutual passion. She knew she couldn’t hold out much longer, she felt as each touch would be the last before she erupted into hot waves of pleasure.

Apparently Snape felt the same way. His hand entangled itself in her hair as he pulled her face to his in another bruising kiss as he positioned himself at her slick opening. She groaned, begging him to take her as hard as he could.

And before she could tell him so, he thrust forward and filled her completely.

Hermione felt as though her world were based solely around this moment, and everything before it had been boring and dull. As Snape plunged faster, she thought of everything that had brought her pleasure during her life. Being named Head Girl, getting perfect marks on her exams three years in a row; nothing felt as good as this.

He rocked against her, driving his staff as hard and rough as he could, causing her to cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. He stalled, and she could see the look of wonder in his eyes.

“Please…keep going…” she managed to say, before claiming his mouth again. He moved again, this time slower and easier, careful not to hurt her. And while she enjoyed the sweet agony of his soft, smooth stroking, she wanted nothing more at that moment than to feel him pounding into her ravenously.

“Faster…harder…”

He did not need to be told twice. Once more he quickened the pace, his fingers digging into her lower back. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her glistening body against his, her legs locked around his waist. She could feel the tension in her nerves ready to snap, but she held on, waiting for him.

She knew he was near ready as well. He backed his face away slightly, looking into her eyes before he shot into her once more, harder than they both thought. Hermione screamed as her body gave into the crashing waves of ecstasy. Her eyelids fluttered as she embraced the glorious feeling she had never felt before.

Snape gasped loudly as he climaxed, releasing his fluid inside of her. As his climax subsided, he relaxed his body against hers and pushed them back against the table.

He pulled out of her, and moved beside her as to not crush her with his weight. Their breaths came in short, ragged gasps.

Hermione felt as though she were floating through billowy white clouds without a care in the world. Her body was singing and smiling and laughing at the so-called past sexual relations she’d had. This feeling was close to euphoric.

She glanced over at Snape, who was drawing in slow, languid breaths, and smiled. This was not how she imagined their first sexual experience. She had thought it would have been more passionate and relaxed as it was in her dream. But, her body wasn’t complaining, nor was she.

Snape took her hand and sat up, taking her with him. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut this short and call it a night,” he said, pulling his clothes back on.

She understood: it was nearly three in the morning and if they were caught they’d both be in serious trouble. She crossed her legs, closing in the same sticky feeling she had felt earlier before she decided to take the bath, and watched him dress. When he was finished, he led her outside, where she stepped into her underwear and pulled on her shirt.

He walked her back to the Gryffindor common room, that way she wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion with the Fat Lady. They each knew that she was a terrible gossip.

Once they reached the portrait, he looked down at her; any trace of coldness and hate erased. “Miss Granger, if I catch you wandering the halls again the matter will be taken up with Dumbledore. You do not have unlimited access to the library at any time. Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

The Fat Lady looked at Hermione, accepting this excuse without speculation. After hearing the password, the portrait swung open and Hermione stepped into the common room.

“Pleasant dreams,” Snape said, winking. He smirked and walked soundlessly down the hall.

Hermione smiled as she went back into her room. So, Snape had found his way into her dreams. Once she found out exactly how he’d done it, she was sure to have some fun of her own...and often.