Costume Party

A/N: So as many of you are aware, I’m working on Custody Battle at the moment. But it’s caught me with a nasty case of the tangles, which is not at all like writer’s block, but rather, there are so many different ways to take it, but no matter which one I pick, all the options are leading to a muck of messy tangles and a dead end. And while I was working on it, I had To Save A Serpent to balance it out because when I was stuck I would just retreat to working on that for a bit, however, with that completed, I’ve got nothing in the same ship with which to tear my focus. So I’ve just popped this little bit together because I needed to write Severus and Hermione without the current conflict the other story has them in. I hope you enjoy it, and at present I’ve no intentions of making it anything other than this one shot, but it seems like every time I attempt that sort of thing, it turns into some long extravagant deal, so we’ll see. Please leave me a review at the end. I love constructive criticism.


“Costume party.”

“No.”

“Next Friday.”

“Not interested.”

“Matching couples costume theme, prizes awarded.”

“Don’t care.”

“Starts at eight.”

“Can’t make it.”

“Party games, large buffet, and open bar.”

“Potions conference on Saturday.”

“Hosted at Hogwarts.”

“Not my problem.”

“It’s an invitation.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Severus Snape sat at the desk in his living room, bent over several research journals. His wife was strewn over the couch like a fancy afghan of sorts, reading the mail. His reading glasses slipped down his nose but he hardly noticed. The sliding glass door that led out to the veranda was open, a warm summer breeze gliding into the room, rustling his hair.

She sighed, placing the invitation on the glass top of the coffee table. Picking up another letter, she flicked it open and began to read. “It’s from Minerva.”

“Charming.”

“They’re in Madrid.”

“Wonderful.”

“Albus got an earring.”

“Oh joy.” He rummaged around in a desk drawer, finding another pad of sticky notes with which to mark pages in the various journals scattered atop the desk.

“And a tattoo.”

“Lovely.”

Hermione folded the letter over, face slightly red. “You should get a tattoo,” she mumbled before continuing on in the letter. “They’re coming to the costume party on Friday.”

“Hooray for them.”

“She wants them to go as mother earth and father time.”

“Fantastic.”

“But she says Albus wants them to go as King Arthur and Guinevere.”

“Terrific.”

“Severus, are you even listening to me?”

Lifting his nose up from his research, he sighed, gazing at her before pulling his reading specs from his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Hermione, I am. Albus and Minerva are in Madrid, and they’re fighting over historical royalty versus ancient naturalism because of the stupid costume party at eight on Friday that we’re not going to. Albus has an earring, the party has open bar, and I’m not getting a tattoo.”

She gazed at him, staring unblinking. Hermione put Minerva’s letter down and picked up another. “Harry and Ginny are back in town.”

He growled in frustration. “Hermione, what do I need to do to stop you from reading all of the bloody mail aloud? I’m trying to do research.”

“They’re going as Adam and Eve.”

“Hermione?”

“Ginny’s invited us to dinner on Sunday.”

“Hermione!” his voice rose as he did, stalking over to the couch, and he snatched the letter from her hand.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you in such a bad mood this afternoon?”

His eyes floated over her as he tossed the letter back onto the coffee table. “Ginevra’s expecting.” He stood near her legs. “Again.”

“Don’t dodge my questions.”

“Scooch over,” he muttered. Sitting up to allow him to sit down, Hermione flopped into his lap as he settled into the couch. “I’m on the verge.”

“You’ve been on the verge all week.”

“Hermione, I’m this close to making the biggest breakthrough in Potions history!”

“We’ll you’d better hurry up and breakthrough because you’re on the verge of driving me mad.” She nuzzled her nose against his neck. “Do you realize it’s been eleven days since we’ve had sex?”

Severus quirked a brow. “You’re counting?”

She groaned, frustration evident in the way she launched herself up from his lap. Hermione stood before him, hands on her hips, scowl on her lips. “You, who eleven days ago couldn’t go twenty-four hours without sex, suddenly launched into a dry spell due to research and then has the nerve to ask who’s counting?”

“Hermione—”

“You are taking off on Friday.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Severus. I’m not letting you drive me over the edge. You are taking a break from your ridiculous research conquest and we are going to that costume party!”

“Ridiculous research conquest?”

“Are you a bloody parrot?”

“At least I’m not a bloody Parrot Head!” he snapped.

“Oh!” she shouted. “You— you— oh!” she stomped off down the hall.

“Where are you going?”

“To wank off while listening to Buffet!” Her heavy footsteps echoed as she trumped upstairs, the bedroom door slamming behind her.

Severus sighed. His gaze flickered over the two letters and the costume party invitation. Glancing more thoroughly at the invitation, he waited a moment before heading back to his desk. Another three minutes had every journal carefully stacked into piles, various colored sticky notes poking out between the pages.

The stairs to their house were carpeted but still left a heavy sounding echo when someone marched up them. He could hear the smooth strumming of Buffet’s guitar being piped through her muggle speakers. It confounded him, the little white box, she called it an ‘i’ something or other, and plugged it into speakers. Their bedroom rested at the end of the hall and the door was left slightly ajar. Pushing it open he gazed at her, sprawled on the bed, skirt hiked up around her stomach, fingers buried between her thighs.

“…how it got here I haven’t a clue…” Buffet sang. He approached the bed and sat down on the side of it. But her eyes were closed, her hips arching up to meet her own hand. “Wastin’ away again in Margaritaville,” the man sang. “Searchin’ for my lost shaker of salt.”

Severus leaned over and whispered against her ear, “Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame…” Her eyes flew open and she pumped her fingers harder, three pushed tightly together in and out of her slick vagina. “But I know…it’s my own damn fault…” and his lips rested against her ear. “Please, turn bloody Buffet off…” and he held his breath, waiting.

“I blew out a flip-flop,” the song continued on. “Stepped on a pop-top, cut my heel had to cruise on back home…but there’s booze in the blend—” Hermione’s hand waved and the music stopped abruptly. Severus smiled.

“This does not get you off the hook,” she growled, pulling her fingers from between her legs. Each digit was glistening with her slickness. Leaning forward he darted his tongue out of his mouth, but she pulled her hand away, licking her own fingers. “I don’t think so,” she said and narrowed her eyes. “I’m still angry with you…”

“I came up here…”

“Yes, but probably just because Jimmy was interrupting your research,” she huffed.

“I put the research away.”

Hermione closed her eyes. “Then make it up to me, since you’ve found some time.”

Severus leaned up from her, gazing at her body. “And how should I do that, my mistress?”

She could not suppress her grin. It was one of Hermione’s favorite sexual games, when he submitted, quite willingly to her, calling her mistress and obeying every barked order. Occasionally she’d tie him up, tease and even lightly torture him, but having him acting as a willing man servant was enough to tickle her fancy in her current state of mood. “You will satisfy me until I’ve had enough and you will not pleasure yourself until I say so…you’ve been right awful these last eleven days…”

He nodded and then stood from the bed. “Might I help my mistress undress?
he asked and bowed. It sent a shiver up her spine. She was already halfway aroused, having stroked herself to the musical styling of Margaritaville, but his submission, his will to bend and bow, it excited her so much more than any type of music.

“You may, but don’t even think about touching me otherwise until I’m completely undressed.” She watched as he nodded, and then rose slowly from his bow, his long elegant fingers unfastening her skirt and guiding it down her hips, exposing her lower torso and legs. His fingers found their way up to her summery shirt. His long black hair held the finest hint of gray, so subtle that she only ever noticed it when his head was close enough to her breasts for her to look down upon it. It showed his age and a pange of guilt plagued her heart, though she didn’t speak it. “Faster, you’re not pleasing me this way.”

“I beg forgiveness, my mistress,” he whispered and lowered his head, as if awaiting to be smacked. But her hand tangled into his hair and pulled him up for a kiss. He was timid, something that made her spine jolt with electricity. It wasn’t often that she was able to force him into this sort of submission without a proper battle for the title of master. She loved dominating him almost as much as she loved being dominated by him, and he seemed to find sated release in both roles as well. Her lips crushed against his and then pushed him away. “Thank you, my mistress.”

“Quit thanking me and finish undressing me.” He was quick, though careful, removing her top and her bra. She took her own pace of laying back on the bed, her legs spread. “Only your fingers until I say so.” She panted, her cheeks flushed. The sensation of his tongue would send her careening over the edge easily, but it would pleasure him too, for he loved the taste of her. And she would force him to give her a round of pleasure where she withheld it from him, at least once, before allowing him to indulge in her. Fifteen years of marriage had been good to them.

He nodded silently and knelt between her legs, teasing her inner thighs with his fingers. One slender finger, then another, and then three were inside of her warmth and she trembled. He slid them slowly back out, the other hand teasing through her curls, which were sticky and damp with her juices. “Faster,” she panted, feeling daunted by his gentle pace.

“Yes, my mistress,” he said and lowered his head but then reluctantly pulled it back up. He had not yet received permission to drive her wild. Severus pumped his fingers harder into her, his own erection, neglected for nearly a fortnight, pulsing in his trousers. He hoped he would be given permission to strip, or at least to relieve himself at some point, though he mentally begged for sooner rather than later. Hermione had never been so cruel as to leave him completely unfulfilled, though she had been known, especially when angry, to leave him teased to the very edge of pain before allowing him to come, forcing it from his own hand. He frowned. She was particularly angry.

“Look as if you want to please me,” she hissed, her toes curling. It hadn’t taken much and she was whimpering, panting, feeling his fingers inside of her, providing enough friction to give send her first orgasm tumbling through her body. She trembled and closed her eyes tightly, body jerking, muscles clenching. “Good,” she whispered, her voice throaty and dry. “You may lick your fingers,” she added.

Severus was all too happy to pop each digit into his mouth, tasting her, and trying terribly hard not to moan in delight. She was sweet like a flower’s nectar, and uniquely musky, a woman worth his while to say the least. “What else can I do to please you, my mistress?”

Without speaking, Hermione grabbed his hands and placed them over her breasts. As much as she yearned for his tongue, she knew that even if she allowed him to lick her right then, she’d be a bit too sensitive to truly enjoy it. His fingers grasped at her nipples and she shuddered. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“No, my mistress,” he hung his head. He’d been led into a trap, one that she used and got away with quite often. Pulling his hands back from where she’d guided them, he placed them flat on the side of the bed. “May I touch your breasts, my mistress?”

“What for?” she asked, eyes half lidded.

“To pleasure you, my mistress.”

“You may.” His hands slowly crept up the side of her torso, dragging along her flesh until he’d cupped one breast in each hand. His fingers made quick work of rolling her nipples, and wholly massaging the soft sacs of tissues and fat, making her whimper and moan, almost to the point of calling out his name. But she didn’t. He was disappointed because no matter how mad she was, the rule in their games had always been that if he assumed the role of the servant, she was not allowed to call out his name and vice versa, as it was inappropriate for the master to be lusting after the servant, who was merely there to give pleasure, not be wanted.

He could feel her trembling, finding it amusing, though his face showed nothing, that she was quite possibly experiencing her second orgasm. He did not stop flicking at her nipples, only leaned to her ear and in a breathy whisper, asked, “How else might I be allowed to please my mistress?”

Hermione practically growled, arching her hips up at him. She longed for his tongue. It was no longer worth making herself suffer to prove a point. “Use your bloody tongue.”

“Where might I be allowed to use my tongue, my mistress?”

Again she growled, only she couldn’t be rightfully upset as he was only doing as good servants did, making sure that he had specific, clear instructions to follow before beginning any task. She was panting, chest heaving up and down beneath his ministrations. “Use your tongue between my thighs, servant,” she said. “On my clitoris, in my opening.” They were crude words but they both shivered to hear her say them.

“Yes, my mistress, thank you for allowing me to please you.” He slowly lowered his head and then paused. “Might I kiss my mistress’s skin, from her breasts, down her torso, until I reach her clitoris?” he asked, licking his lips in an almost ravishing way.

“Yes…yes you may…s—se…” she trailed off biting her lower lip.

“Did my mistress say something?” he quirked a brow. She’d been on the verge of uttering his name, he was sure of it.

“I said, yes you may certainly kiss my flesh…” her eyes narrowed. She was going to have to be more careful if she wanted to remain in control.

He frowned but nodded. “I am pleased that I can please you in this way, my mistress.” His lips fell immediately to her breasts, suckling at each nipple before he slowly began to trail his mouth down over her flesh, hot kisses passing in his wake. He lingered for a while at the bend of her thigh, where leg met body and suckled her skin, drinking in her scent before finally he made a slow sweep of his tongue over her slick slit, tasting that amazing taste of her arousal.

She moaned, arching her hips up at once. “Do that again.” She ordered.

Severus was more than happy to oblige, licking her slit again, and then again, and then a third time before he swirled his tongue around the tiny bundle of nerves, smirking into her folds as she practically shrieked. “Might I be allowed to use my fingers, my mistress?”

“H—how?”

“As a servant should, my mistress,” he said and licked at her slit again. “To please you further…”

She knew what it meant and normally would have forced him to say that he wished to tease the crack of her arse and push a finger or two into her tight rimmed pucker while licking her until she came, but she’d been gone for too long without his pleasurable actions, eleven days was a long time after all. Nodding her head, she panted. “Yes, you may.”

One hand was parting her cheeks, dipping that finger along the crack, watching her shiver, while his other began to massage her thigh, his tongue thrusting into her opening. Just as he pulled his tongue out, he began to nudge a finger into her arse, and heard her scream. “My mistress is pleased?” he asked.

The vibrations of his voice against her quivering cunt made her squeal. “Yes, yes!”

Pumping one finger into her arse and his tongue almost violently into her womanhood, he had her coming for a second time in no time at all, lapping lazily at her juices as they trickled down her thigh. “My mistress is pleased?” he repeated, his cock throbbing desperately inside of his trousers.

“Getting…there…” she panted and tangled a hand in his hair, dragging his head up to her, but he resisted kissing her.

“May I kiss my mistress?” he asked.

She was growing annoyed with her own game, and seldom did that happen, but he was playing it to the mark because she was so deprived. “Yes,” she growled and then forced his lips to hers, crushing him in a brutal but passionate kiss. Her arms were tight around his still clothed back, forcing him onto her figure. “Lay atop me,” she ordered before he had the chance to pull away and ask her was he allowed. The fabric of his shirt was rough against her naked skin. “Undress yourself.” She hissed. “Now.” It was rare that she allowed for him to be naked during this particular game, unless she’d denuded him herself and bound him, but she needed to see and feel his body, fully on hers, taking her.

He was quick to discard his trousers, thankful that his erection was free of their confinements, but took his time with the buttons on his shirt. Several moments later he was naked, kneeling between her thighs. “What might I do to please my mistress now?” he asked, erection jutting proudly out from a thicket of black curls.

She could have forced him to stroke himself to pleasure, coming on her stomach. It was grotesque to those who didn’t understand her lust and pleasure at being covered in her lover’s seed. Sex was pleasurable for her, and sometimes more so when it was sweaty and messy and she often preferred for there to be nothing clean about it. But it had been eleven days, and that seemed like nothing, compared to what poor Ginny must have gone through every time she’d gotten pregnant, the letter had said she was on child number four, but Hermione put the thought far from her mind. She needed Severus. “You may fuck me,” she said.

“My mistress?” he asked, both hands at his side. “How would you like me to fuck you?”

“With your throbbing prick, in my slit, force it, rough, and hard, you may touch me with your hands, with your body, over top me, do it. Now.” She commanded. Both of his hands came to her shoulders as he steadied himself, and without warning thrust himself hard between her legs, though he slipped easily in, sheathing himself in her slick heat. He groaned and she tangled her fingers into his hair. “Fuck me, hard and fast.”

“Yes, my mistress,” he said and began to thrust in earnest into her, groaning and moaning as it had been eleven days since he’d bothered to relief himself. It was quite the drastic change from having sex every day, every chance they had. They were young, virile magical beings, who’s sex drives were off the charts. “May I kiss my mistress?”

“Yes,” she growled and kissed him before he could kiss her. Their limbs tangled together, her nails raking down his back, and she panted, groaning, and moaning, but she did not cry out his name. Her muscles spasmed and she could feel herself coming hard and fast to his quick, rough deep thrusts. “Gods!” she hissed, feeling her body explode. Pleasuring sensations shot all through her body and she twitched, tossing and turning about.

“My— my— mistress…” he panted. “May I…come…” and he tried to slow himself, desperate to receive permission.

Had she not been so completely overwhelmed in her crashing climax, she could have tortured him into holding his release, but her tongue slipped through her lips, “Yes, gods, yes, please come.” He didn’t hold back. One hard stroke and he was pumping himself into her, panting and shuddering. Her arms fell on his back as he collapsed onto her chest. Severus tried to pull himself up on shaky arms. “Stay put,” she demanded in a broken, quivering voice. He let his head fall back onto her breasts. “Good boy,” she said.

Stroking fingers through his hair, she held him, their bodies slick. “I release you from your servitude…” she whispered at his ear. Game over.

He gazed up at her eyes and slowly rolled off her, pulling her into his arms while resting on his side. “Is that better?”

She slowly nodded and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Better never let it go eleven bloody days again…”

He nodded, and then kissed her. “Do we still have to go to the costume party?” he asked, sounding almost hopeful as if his bout of pleasing sex would prevent them from having to go.”

“Yes,” she said and he rolled his eyes, groaning. “Watch it, or I’ll put Jimmy back on…”

Severus closed his eyes. “Heaven forbid.” After a moment he pulled the blanket up over them, feeling chilled. “I think it was about time for an afternoon nap anyhow,” he said as if coming up to the bedroom had been his idea in the first place. “Perhaps you’ll stay and join me?” he yawned.

He was getting old. They still went at it for hours upon hours, but it took more and more out of him as they did. From time to time he’d insist on a nap after their go-rounds, feeling physically and emotionally drained. She never fussed, figuring the rest would do her some good, at least, it couldn’t hurt. Hermione never mentioned her concerns, never wanting to upset his fragile ego as he’d believed nearly twenty years ago that he was two old to be dating her, and fifteen years ago, too old to be marrying her. She ran her fingers through his hair, catching that glimpse of silvery gray. “Of course, I’m feeling rather tired…” she yawned.

“Good, maybe a good rest will talk you out of that bloody costume party.”

“Not bloody likely,” she smiled and kissed his cheek. “Rest, I’m sure there’s tones of research to be done later this evening.” And she closed her eyes, snuggling naked into his arms, and fell off into a light afternoon nap beside her husband.