When Love Speaks

Title: When Love Speaks
Author: Savine_Snape
Beta: sc010f, firefly_124
Cheerleader: sc010f and Beffeysue
Word Count: 1,390
Summary: Told from Severus’ POV, this is a look at how he feels about his wife with a hint at how he feels about turning fifty.

A/N: This was a little stand by story that was written in an attempt to encourage Erica to come out and play with the longer SBBBB story. It doesn’t make the word limit for the Birthday Bash for Severus so I thought I would share it here, as a little Christmas smutty offering to you, my wonderful, supportive, loving f-list.


I stand here by the window with nought but a towelling robe to cover my modesty as a strange yet welcome calm surrounds me. Perhaps it is because of the peaceful scene outside. As far as I can see the vista is painted white with freshly fallen snow. Today I turn fifty. Young for a wizard, especially one so gifted as I, if I do say so myself. But I have many scars that map the course of my life. Scars acquired when I was nought but a lad, scars acquired when I was a lost soul who desperately wanted to fit in somewhere, scars from my stand against a megalomaniac who wanted to change the world, but only in a way which suited him. Not for better, but for worse.

I am no work of art. My hair is dark and lank from hours spent over simmering cauldrons. My nose is large and crooked. Some say it is fitting for the Roman name my mother gave me. Others are less compassionate. I was teased as a child and a young man, but my wife does not complain about its size. She is often very vocal in her appreciation. Even now, some twelve years after the fall of Voldemort, I still have a lean frame. The majority of the Death Eaters may have been rendered impotent and harmless, but it is hard to cease training when danger has played such a large part in one’s life.

My cock stirs as I turn from the window with its vision of beauty and tranquillity to gaze upon the woman who lies sleeping on our four-poster bed – this glorious woman who is my firmest friend, my lover, and my wife.

Her curls cascade across her pillow like rampaging waves, and the wispy tendrils lick at the edge of my own pillow. She lies nude atop the bedspread and to me she appears like the goddess Venus as she rises from the sea. Her skin is like cream, just as pale and delicious, a contrast to the dark brown curls that hide her most intimate area. Her body shines in the early morning sunlight that warms our bedroom.

Her breasts are lovely and pert – not that I wouldn’t expect them to be, for she is nineteen years my junior. Her hips flare in a most beguiling manner, a testament that she is, indeed, all woman. No longer do I see the know-it-all I taught and protected for almost seven years. Her body has filled out in a most appealing manner. She is all soft and inviting curves that call to me like a siren’s song, pulling me closer to the rocks which will wreck me if I hurt her. Her body has recovered well from the ravages of the war against Voldemort and his followers.

I cannot help but smile as my eyes alight upon her slightly swollen belly, for within her grows the outward and visible sign of our love for one another. In five months I will become a father for the first time. Ha, yes, the greasy bat of the dungeons will have his own child to love and nurture.

If Trelawney had prophesised that I would survive the war against Voldemort and marry the Gryffindor know-it-all I would have declared, most brutally, that she had been at the cooking sherry again and was most defiantly out of her mind and in need of immediate medical care. Yet, here is where I find myself most at peace with the world; in the safe harbour my warrior goddess has built for both of us.

I barely survived the attack of my former master’s familiar; if my darling girl had arrived thirty minutes later, I would have passed through the veil. I’m not sure which death would be more embarrassing; death by House emblem, or death by drapery like Black.

My love stirs as I approach our bed; she absentmindedly strokes her hand across the gentle swell of her belly, reassuring the child within that they are loved. Many accuse me of being a hard-hearted man, yet she has melted my core and brought me back to life. For too many years I was lost in a wilderness, convinced that I was not worthy of another’s love, but she has proved me wrong at every turn. She has stood by me, defiant and beautiful beyond compare. She has surpassed my former love: she has shown me what true love means.

I settle gently upon our bed, propping myself beside her on one elbow as my free hand lies on top of hers, moving in slow circles. She murmurs as my hand leaves hers to tease and tweak her left nipple. Leaning down, I take the hardened nub into my mouth, sucking and tasting her delicate skin.

My free hand travels down her neck, I briefly pass over her free nipple as my hand travels south to the crop of curls which hide her most intimate lips. Slowly, I tease her, smirking as her hips tilt to permit my entrance. My fingers slip between her swollen lips and I hear a groan of appreciation from the back of my throat as my fingers swirl amid her dampness, slowly spreading it as I begin to fuck her.

She is close, her little murmurs are becoming more frantic, and her hips buck in time with the movement of my fingers. She mutters discontentedly as my fingers leave her quim. In a flash, I am situated between her firm thighs; she is exposed for my approval. My tongue replaces the fingers which moments earlier were teasing her. Her fingers twist and twine in my dark hair as her hips move to meet me. Lovingly I move my tongue in and out of her quim, as her fingers tighten on my scalp as her orgasm washes over her.

I rest back on my heels and smile down at my wife as she stares back at me through half-lidded eyes. She watches intently as I fist my hardening cock.

I force myself to enter her slowly, stopping as soon as I have pushed into her quim to give her time to adjust. She is trembling, her fingers clenched in the sheets, but when she raises her hips roughly, impaling herself further, I realise I have mistaken the reason for the tremor. I accept her invitation and thrust deep, burying myself within her.

Sheathed within her warmth, I realise that our coupling will be quick and frantic; I cannot stave off my orgasm for much longer. I pull back, and then thrust forward again, giving an extra push to send my cock deeper. It's that last little push that's the most satisfying. A few more times, in and out, slowly to savour the experience, and then I set a demanding rhythm, which she matches.

The silence of the room is broken by our soft, panting cries: she is begging me to take her to the heights. As she approaches her climax, I am relentless, moving in and out with a frenzied, irregular pace until her quim clenches around my cock and she bathes me with the nectar of her passion.

I teeter on the edge of my own completion, my body straining towards release as I thrust into her again and again, wanting to be one with her, needing just a bit longer. Then I come undone, pumping my seed deep inside her.

I am panting from the exertions, my world has reduced to nought but her amber eyes that watch me, the rise and fall of her breasts as her breathing returns to normal, and her arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me down towards her lips and the warm, safe harbour that is her love for me.

The darkness, the danger, the uncertainty that plagued my younger years is largely forgotten, consigned to those nights when we are parted. She has me bewitched, body, mind and soul and I can think of no better place to be than here by her side, always.
I slip slowly from her, and pull her against me, nuzzling the warm, soft skin of her neck.

“Happy Birthday, love.” Hermione murmurs sleepily before Morpheus claims her once more.

It will, indeed, be a very blessed birthday for she is here with me.