A Relaxing of Discipline
Just as I finished, "Accepting the Consequences", I got another bunny. So I wrote that too, and Holly got two fics instead of one for her birthday. Happy birthday, Holly! I'll have Snape come give you your birthday spanking....(wink)
Two days ago, Hermione had wondered if this was what it was like right at the end of pregnancy. Then she had been ready to just take all the bloody NEWTS without studying. Now... Now she was wishing like hell that the chopped dried fluxweed she was putting away in the storeroom wasn't so blasted sensitive that a sorting spell couldn't be used. Professor Snape was going to go to a conference... maybe two... this summer, and he was restocking for next year now, anything that would hold over three months time. This would...IF she didn't use magic to handle it.
She bent and reached and bent and reached and bent and felt the jar slip and let out a hearty, "Oh, FUCK!". As if in slow motion, the light from the doorway changed in the way that meant Snape was watching her from there just as the jar somersaulted down and shattered brilliantly and finely all over the stone floor.
"You're overtired," he said. "Come out of there and let me clean it up."
He was right. It was the best solution. Unfortunately, when one has been up for thirty-six hours straight and is under a great deal of pressure, one cannot often accept or take the best solution.
"Go away, I'll deal with it," she said dully, reaching down for the last two jars. If she put them up and shielded the space, she could use a spell to get the broken stuff up. And then it would be done, and she could go review her Transfiguration practical one last time, and go over her notes for Ancient Runes....
"Miss Granger, I gave you a direct order," he said, voice hardening slightly.
"Fuck off," she said tiredly, putting the last jar in place, and pausing a moment before she could remember the shielding charm.
"Accio Hermione Granger," he said calmly, and she squawked in surprise as the spell dumped her at the feet of her Potions Professor in a most undignified heap. "Petrifacus Totalis," he added. He then stepped over her and, with a few quick wand flicks, cleaned up the floor of the storeroom. That done, he flicked his wand at her and said, "Levo", and guided her back through the classroom into his private sitting room. She was lying on the floor when he said, "Finite Incantatum", and she stood up in a white-hot rage.
"You arrogant pushy son of a bitch!" she flared. He tapped his wand on his robe, and, fasteners undone, slipped out of it and laid it aside across the chair by the door. Beneath it, he wore a white shirt, unbuttoned slightly at the throat, over his usual black trousers. Normally this would have provoked a different response from her. He only unbuttoned for bed...or for her. But now she was entirely too annoyed.
"Yes," he said calmly. "However, if you call me a bastard, I'll have to dispute that. They were married for six years before I came along."
"You....you....hexed me!"
"Oh, yes," he said, laying his wand down and rolling his sleeves up, slowly. "I did. And I've come to a conclusion. I have concluded that when you don't take time to relax, you lose all perspective on life."
Had she been less tired, she might have laughed.
"It's been three weeks since you came down here after curfew," he continued. "And while I have no desire to interfere with your studies, it is clear to me that you are NOT taking care of yourself. So I will."
"Go to hell," she snapped, and pivoted, ready to leave. He pounced.
Holy fuck, he's strong, was the thought that drifted through her very dazed brain. He laid her down on the couch and proceeded to magically strip her of everything but her bra and panties. "I believe I've told you on a number of occasions how much I enjoy knowing that you are wearing black satin bra and knickers under those nice prim and proper robes," he commented almost casually, one hand on the center of her back holding her down there. "You say they're actually quite practical. They do certainly do an excellent job of framing the best arse in the school."
He ran his free hand down her back, and felt her arch in resistance. "But you know, I have a liking for seeing that arse nicely reddened. And it isn't. Not at all... you've been entirely too good to let me lay into you a second time with a nice birch rod. Nor have you come down and let me apply my hand."
She shivered. He smiled.
"I believe, " he said, sitting down and expertly guiding her up over his lap until she was in the perfect position, "that it's time to remedy this. And you were grossly disrespectful earlier."
He didn't give her time to argue, or to say anything. By now, he knew her well. The first two stinging swats melted all her resistance. The next ones, harder, placed very carefully to ensure she'd be sore later, threaded a different kind of tension through her. A shriek of outrage modulated itself into a yelp of surprise and then a moan of arousal that threaded through his belly and made him quiveringly hard instantly. Two more slaps made her quiver and sob. He could have stopped there. However, that wouldn't have made the...impression...he wanted.
He stopped when her entire arse was glowing and warm. He judged it wouldn't actually bruise, but she'd be sitting down quite carefully tomorrow. She was shuddering all over, sobbing, and he ran one long finger down the cleft of her arse. Absolutely sopping wet. Good.
"Oh, God, please, please," she begged. He grinned. He rather thought not. Not quite yet. He pushed her off him, stood up, and picked her up again, carrying her into the bedroom.
He laid her very carefully on the bed, and placed her face up on the bed. "Stay there," he said firmly, and finished undressing. She turned her head to watch him. Long and narrow man, skin the pale white of someone who rarely saw the sun, but surprisingly strong, skin warm and muscles solid under her fingers. He was different with her, as if he took off his shell with his clothes. And he was always surprising her.
He stood beside the bed, looking at her. Just looking, but it made her close her eyes and shiver. He could pack more into a look than some people could into a touch. She could feel his gaze on the spot under her jaw that made her hot, the ticklish-sensitive spot under her breasts, the arch of her ribs, the curve of her thigh. And suddenly his eyes weren't on her, just the feeling of him poised over her, mouth breathing soft kisses, so light they could hardly even be felt, across her breasts, the bare shadow of a touch to her aching nipples, and he breathed down her belly, then in a quick, lightning shift, he had her hips in his hands and his mouth was...oh, fuck. He knew exactly how to do it, little quick swirls around and a hard lick just there and it wasn't long enough to do it, and she whimpered.
"Not yet," he said softly. "I'm not going to let you come until you're strung so tight that you will break apart in my arms. I want to see you lose control, all that tight control, break that nice cool competent facade that you've been wearing even for me..." He dipped his head, inhaled, and made a noise of deep satisfaction before he did that thing with his tongue again just there and she felt the tension rack up another notch. She wailed and he just laughed.
"Please, damn you!" she gasped, and then her head arched back and she gave a long low moan because he'd slid two of those long narrow fingers up...Oh and he'd found something, and he was just rubbing back and forth across it and the heat was growing and she needed, so much, needed, needed more, fuller, please...
She didn't realize it was coming out in words until he laughed again, kissed her long and hard and, oh, she tasted herself on his mouth, and whispered, "Since you beg so very prettily, then yes, my dear." It was so natural to tilt up to him, to pull him to her, and to feel him fill her in a long slow slide that just made it that much more so, much more needing, and the fire was still there, and he was moving, but slow, too slow to push her over. She rocked her hips to try to push it along, and he laughed breathlessly in her ear. "No, no.... This is happening when I say it is, and you need this, you need me to do this, to give you this long slow fuck that tears you down just as much you need my hand on your arse and my words in your ears telling you just how bloody debauched and beautiful you look in my bed...Fuck, so beautiful, so goddamn hot, oh, fuck, Hermione," he gasped, his pace picking up slightly.
She moaned. God, so close, so close, she could feel it burning there like a cauldron ready to boil over, and if he would just... oh, please....He was gasping now, pulling her close, and now, now he was doing it, now it was right, it was right and it was so damn good and ah, there, there, burning, flying and his teeth set into her shoulder as he came in great shuddering bursts and she could see nothing but light and feel nothing but the light as she came and came and it faded, and she fell down and into the darkness.
He rested his head against her for a moment. Damn. Then he looked at her, and couldn't help a grin stealing over his face. She'd be sleeping tonight, for a change. He used his wand to clean them both up, and tucked her into the bed, before he went to get a shower.
When he came back in, she had rolled onto her side, facing towards the center of the bed, one hand out as if seeking him, a faint smile still touching her lips, still fast asleep. He bent, brushed the hair out of her face with a careful hand, and then slid into bed beside her. Somehow the best way for two to sleep in that bed, contrary to anything he'd ever expected, was in each other's arms.
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