Twist and Shout

Chapter 17: Twist and Shout

Severus stood in the hall outside Hermione's door and wondered about the secretive smile dancing on her lips. She felt good in his arms, too good to release. But she broke his gaze and drew away, leaving the space she'd occupied as cold as it was empty. She walked to her door and removed the wards while he stood motionless, teetering on the threshold of more than just her doorstep.

He should go. He had no business staying. He knew what she wanted just as surely as he knew he couldn't give it to her. His brain accepted the wisdom, but his feet refused to budge. She was completely different from the women he had known. Something told him she'd be damn near impossible to forget.

She pushed open the door to her flat and turned back to him. Soft light fell from the room, hiding her features while framing her silhouette in a golden glow. He wished he had positioned himself better, so he could read her expression. He wasn't even standing in a good spot for a long kiss goodbye. Perhaps it was just as well. Her lips would only leave him wanting more, and there was a great deal to consider before he could contemplate anything... more.

"Aren't you coming in?" she asked.

What?

He walked to her slowly and studied her face. Flushed cheeks, heavy lids ... suddenly, the secretive smile made more sense.

"If I go in tonight, I'm not coming back out," he told her.

"I'm afraid you'll have to leave eventually. You'd look ridiculous wearing my clothes."

"That's not what I meant."

"I didn't think it was."

"Did I miss something?" he asked. "The last I checked, you weren't interested in meaningless...albeit satisfying...sex, and I didn't care for the idea of a committed relationship."

"Haven't you heard? It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind."

He snorted. "You are not a typical woman."

She frowned slightly, probably trying to determine whether she was being complimented or insulted. "I can change my mind when I feel like it."

"You've changed your mind?" There had to be a catch.

"Well, I'm not saying, 'come over anytime you fancy a shag.' But one night won't hurt anything, right?"

He wasn't so sure about that but thought it unwise to contradict her. And although he hated to risk his sudden good fortune, he couldn't help wondering what had precipitated the change of heart. "Are you certain you want to do this?" he asked.

"Aren't Slytherins supposed to be perceptive?" she asked, and he detected a trace of irritation in her voice. "I'm all but throwing myself at you, mate."

"I just don't want you to regret this tomorrow."

"I shan't," she said. The certainty in her words matched the expression on her face. She lifted her eyebrows and said, "Unless that's some sort of pre-emptive disclaimer about your performance?"

"Hardly."

"Look, we're both consenting adults who are attracted to each other," she reasoned. "One night together wasn't exactly what I was hoping for, but I'm willing to compromise."

"Yes, that's what always struck me about you...your overwhelming willingness to compromise."

She smiled and stepped closer to him. Her body brushed against his with the slightest of pressure, teasing, tempting. His cock was hard before she even spoke.

"Would you like me to convince you?" She placed her palms on his chest and sent them on an agonizing journey to the waistband of his trousers before sliding them behind his back. She moulded her body to his, the pressure no longer slight. "Don't even think about tomorrow."

He grunted. Forming words would require too much effort.

"Let's pretend there's only tonight," she whispered, and he could barely hear her over the sound of blood rushing through his veins. She touched her lips to the side of his mouth, then brushed them lightly across his lips.

"Hermione..."

"I didn't make you dance with me, Severus. You owe me something nice to remember you by."

He wondered when she had learnt how to make her voice purr. Her breath was warm against his skin. More feathery kisses covered his face, sweet and innocent and completely at odds with the erotic way she rubbed herself against his groin. He could feel the tightly woven cords of control unravelling at breakneck speed.

"I want you, Severus. More than I've ever wanted anything before." Her hands slipped lower to pull his hips tight against her. "Don't you want me?"

The last thread of rational thought snapped. He crushed her body against his, wrapping his arms around her and seizing the lips that had tormented him. Tongues collided, greedy and frantic. Somehow, he managed to manoeuvre them inside her flat. His boot found the bottom of the door, and he kicked it shut. The noise reverberated through the small room. He barely heard it.

Random articles of clothes were discarded as they haltingly made their way to her bed. She pulled her mouth from his, whispering words that held no meaning to him but caused her dress to cascade down her skin like ripples in a stream. She crawled onto the mattress, clad only in black knickers, stockings, and one high-heeled shoe, which she belatedly noticed and kicked away. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

The need to touch and taste and take was overwhelming. But hiding in the corners, just beyond the desire to lose himself in her and forget the world, was something else...the need to worship, to please, to give. To cherish. The words she'd spoken to him so long ago replayed in his mind. He forced himself to breathe deeply and slow down.

Kneeling on the bed beside her, he cupped her face in his hand. His thumb brushed along her jaw, against skin so soft it might have been spun from silk.

He held her gaze and said, "The sonnets of a thousand poets could not capture how enchanting you look right now."

She made a small noise...the quietest of gasps...and blinked several times. The smile that lit her face wrapped around him, until his chest tightened and he found it hard to breathe. Her fingers circled his wrist. She turned her face into his hand and pressed her lips to his palm. Tenderness had never before struck him as arousing, yet her gentle kiss was almost his undoing.

He pulled her face closer and trailed his lips along her forehead, over her eyelids, and down her pert little nose. With great care, he lowered her to the bed and turned his attention to her perfect breasts, rubbing his lips across one nipple until it hardened into a pink pebble. The tightened bud beckoned to him, so he drew it into the warmth of his mouth, swirling his tongue around it until she gasped again...much louder this time.

His hands explored, brushing along her ribs, into the dip of her waist, and down to her hips, where his fingers flexed and squeezed, as if he could brand his possession into her soft flesh. She came alive beneath him, trembling at his touch, quick breaths punctuated by frantic gasps. His mouth claimed her other breast while his fingertips traced the waistband of her knickers. Her body stilled when he slipped his fingers behind the thin silk. A low moan rushed from her lips. The sound was all the encouragement he needed to coax her need, slowly at first, then steadily faster until the feel of slick skin around his fingers threatened to drive him mad. His teeth scraped lightly along her breast as he raised his head. He had to see her, had to watch her face as he touched her in all the places he'd dreamt of.

Her hands clutched the bed covering, grabbing fistfuls of fabric until her knuckles turned white. The movements of her body were intoxicating as she danced beneath him, lifting her hips to meet each stroke, eager and demanding. Her eyes were closed, but her face shone. The sight of her spread out before him, body flushed with desire...for him...burned itself into his memory. She had no concept of the power she held, her ability to push his control beyond its limits. He was dangerously close to spilling himself all over her sexy black lingerie when he slid one long finger inside her, deep and slow. The sound that tore from her throat, something between a growl and a scream, only added to his sense of urgency. He slid his finger out and added another, burying them into her while his thumb moved higher to tease her clit. Her body bucked beneath him. He felt her tightening around his fingers, and he stroked her inside, prolonging her orgasm and extending his torture.

"Severus," she whispered hoarsely, eyes unfocused, lips swollen.

He would have liked to give her time to enjoy the moment, but it was no longer possible. He pushed his hand lower, intending to draw down her knickers as he went. The sound of fabric tearing echoed through the room, mingling with his strangled curses. The thought of finesse...the thought of anything but plunging his cock inside her...was completely gone. There'd be time for skill and tenderness later. Right now, he needed to fuck the hot, wet depth he'd just explored before his brain exploded inside his head.

He grabbed her behind her knees and yanked her legs apart...

Damn it ... too rough!

...then pulled her closer, driving into her, barely registering the sound of her screaming his name over and over. Her hands left the mass of tangled bedding. Perfectly manicured fingernails raked across his nipples and down his chest. He gripped her hips tight, pulling her against him hard and then holding her completely still while her body yielded and finally accepted all of him, his shaft buried deep inside her. He pulled out slowly, and her moan of protest turned to pleasure when he plunged back inside, just as deep but a tad less slow. He kept repeating the move until the tempo built to a steady, pounding rhythm. She met him thrust for frantic thrust, rocking her hips up each time he shoved down. As tight as she was, he could still feel the exact moment when her muscles contracted around him. The memory of how she had looked earlier, splayed out before him as she had climaxed, was enough to push him over the edge. With one final thrust, he emptied himself inside her even as she shuddered beneath him.

When his body ceased convulsing, he collapsed onto the bed next to her. He pulled her into his arms and smoothed the wild mass of hair that had returned to its natural, unruly state from her continual squirming. She curled into his side and stretched her arm across his chest. After a few moments of toying with his chest hair, she traced invisible circles around his nipple with her fingernail.

"I like the way you smell," she said. She nuzzled against his skin and inhaled deeply.

"If I had a Sickle for every time I heard that after sex, I'd...ouch!" he exclaimed as she pinched him in a place no one had any right to pinch a man.

She shifted in his arms and wriggled a bit, then reached beneath her hip to extract a shredded scrap of black fabric.

"That's the second pair you destroyed. What do have against my knickers, anyway?" she asked, waving the material before his face.

He snatched them away and hooked one finger in the remaining leg-hole. Stretching the opposite side with his other hand, he shot the garment across the room like a rubber band. It sailed through the air and landed over a framed photograph of Hermione, Harry, and Ron from second-year at Hogwarts.

"See? They're still quite useful," he informed her.

"You are such a man," she chastised. "One minute, it's 'the sonnets of a thousand poets...,' and then you get laid, and suddenly you're finding new and unusual ways to torment me."

"You would prefer I employ the old and ordinary methods of torment instead?"

"No!" She laughed as she flopped onto her back. "I'd prefer you continue the nice guy charade for ten whole minutes of post-coital repose."

"Ten?" He pretended offence. He turned on his side and propped his head upon his hand so he could gaze down at her.

"Less than ten if I happen to fall asleep first," she amended.

"My dear girl, what makes you think I'll allow you any sleep tonight?" His free hand grazed her stomach. He spread his fingers across her midriff, then dragged his hand higher, cupping her breast and marvelling at how delicate her skin was. It occurred to him that a man could spend countless hours like this without ever tiring of the feel of her skin, the wonder of watching her tremble with every touch. Was it possible to spend months...years, even...and still feel this way?

"Oh," was all she appeared capable of saying as his fingertips danced around her nipple.

"I believe there was a request made earlier," he began, drawing her gaze, "for something nice to remember me by?" She seemed to be having a hard time concentrating, so he ceased his ministrations.

Focusing on his face, she blinked and said, "Yes, but 'nice' is a bit of an understatement for what we just did. In fact, I don't think I have the words to describe how amazing that was."

"And considering your excellent vocabulary, that's saying quite a bit," he agreed. "But we can do better."

"Oh," she said again. "I wasn't exactly complaining."

"Surely you've noticed I'm a bit of a perfectionist, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, dear," she said and shook her head. "I'm one, as well. I'm afraid we could be here all night, Professor."

"Then we'd better get to work." He dipped his head and claimed her mouth.

The next several hours passed unnoticed. He spent the time studying every facet of her body, every nuance of her movements, never failing to be amazed by each new discovery. When he finally forced himself to stop touching her, exhaustion claimed her, and she fell asleep instantly. Dawn had begun to colour the horizon, and although he had spent an hour beside her, listening to her rhythmic breathing, sleep eluded him.

His mind raced. He couldn't shake the feeling that being here with her felt somehow... right. He tried to contemplate a return to his former life. The work he did for Kingsley was satisfying, and there had never been a shortage of witches willing to warm the bed of a war-hero. It had been a good life...he'd been content for the first time in many, many years. Yet the thought of going back to that now felt hollow. Tedious. How the hell was he supposed to forget her after tonight?

Sliding out of bed, he searched for his clothes and donned his dress robes. He Summoned the ruined knickers from across the room and snarled at the photograph when twelve-year-old Harry and Ron waved back at him. A swishing motion from his wand Transfigured the scraps of material into a single, perfect white rose, which he placed on the pillow beside her head. He kissed her temple and watched her sleep far longer than he should have. She never once stirred.

With a renewed sense of purpose, he left her flat and filled his lungs with crisp morning air. The streets outside were deserted at this early hour, and he welcomed the solitude. He needed a clear head for the decisions that loomed before him. But first, he had to find a shop...and not just any shop would do. He had a very important purchase to make.

A/N: My deepest thanks to Karelia for assuring me I didn't squick her with this chapter.