Rupaq Siki

A/N:

I don't usually provide gratuitous translations to the foreign words and phrases in these chapters, but since I'm using it as a title, I'll tell you that the literal meaning of rupaq siki is hot bottom.

Thanks as always to my brilliant beta and Britpicker, RedSkyAtNight. Her attention to anatomical detail in this chapter provided me with some of the most hilarious email exchanges I've had in my life.

Dinner was a strange business. Rawa took her accustomed spot next to Snape and was, as always, mercilessly conscious of the proximity of his body. Not for the first time, she wished that the ingleses were not so profligate with their magical powers, using them for mundane matters like passing the salt; she would have welcomed the opportunity for an occasional covert touch. As it was, she felt completely exposed to the view of staff and students alike, and was scrupulously careful to avoid contact above and below the table.

But it was very different from every other meal she had taken seated next to him. This time she knew, and that knowledge made it at once both more and less bearable. Instead of the wistful ache of longing she had always felt in his presence, there was now the hot immediacy of recall, the image of his white skin and black hair beneath her hands, the sharp unforgettable moment when he had plunged into her for the first time. Seated there at the table in his habitual long coat and high collar, covered except for his face and hands, he might as well have been naked. She could see him naked.

There was nothing in his demeanor to suggest that this night was different from any other. He addressed himself to his food, his keen eyes roving over the assembled students, and responded civilly if not warmly to the conversation of his colleagues. Except for a superficial exchange regarding the upcoming examination schedule, he did not speak to her or look at her at all.

She had no appetite, and ate almost nothing. As soon as the meal was over, she fled back to her rooms.

It was already dark out, and she looked through her window at the moonless night. It seemed suddenly empty and barren, and she felt newly alone and far from home.

What have you done? said the inner voice of doubt. You have tied yourself to a man who can never love you, who loves another, and now it is too late to turn back. You will die alone in this cold land, far from your own people.

She had worn a campesino's plain cotton shirt and drawstring trousers to dinner, and these she now removed, stepping into the bathroom to turn on the shower. She could smell him on her skin, knew his sweat was still dried there from that morning. As the steam enveloped her and the hot water sluiced over her face and chest, she wondered how the man who had taken physical possession of her so fiercely could be the same one who had just sat next to her, appearing so cold and indifferent, at dinner. She wished he were not so skilled at dissembling.

Here, she thought, running her soapy hands over her wet body. You touched me here . . . and here . . . and . . . ay, dios . . .here. Alone in your rooms, as I am alone in mine, are you thinking of me now? Or of someone else? The ugly thought occurred to her that he might have been thinking of someone else...of the woman Lily...even as he kissed her and touched her and labored above her. Pain stabbed through her and she tried to push the notion from her mind.

In bed, she lay awake for a long time wondering what she ought to do. "Ask him about Lily," Dumbledore had said, which sounded simple enough, but she knew it was not. For one thing, they had not been alone together once. For another, she would be a fool to ask the question when she did not really want to hear the answer. What possible response could satisfy her? Any one he gave would either cut her to the bone, or be a lie.

And yet she would ultimately have to know.

Her mind pacing in a relentless circle around this unpleasant truth, she eventually fell into a restless sleep, only to be awakened a short time later by the unmistakable sounds of someone moving about her bedroom. The darkness in the room was absolute, and she listened intently, wondering if she had dreamed the noises. She had almost concluded that she had, but called out sharply, "Who's there?"

At once a hand covered her mouth, and Snape's voice, like silk in her ear, whispered, "Shhh."

He drew back the covers and climbed into bed next to her. He was naked, and she could feel that he was already hard. Ay, dios, she thought, this is enough. This has to be enough. He pulled her up underneath him and kissed her, pushing one knee between her legs. Then his mouth searched out first one breast and then the other. "Severus," she said in his ear, savoring the feel of his name on her tongue, "what do you want?" Each time he had taken her, it had been like this: his body above hers, his mouth and hands hungry on her, penetration and finally a frenzy of ecstasy that left both of them spent. It was satisfying but she longed for more, wanted to take him in her mouth, ride him, make him cry out with pleasure and desire.

But she wanted him to direct her to do these things, because she did not want to seem like a rupaq siki.

She was aware that this was absurd and hypocritical.

So she had asked him, that first night, "What do you want?" and now she asked it again, hoping that he would at least give her some hint or gesture on which she could seize as a pretext. But tonight he said only, "You," and then again, "you," his hands never still, his body pressing down against her; and she thought, ya que estamos en el baile, bailemos, and put her palms flat against his shoulders and pushed him over onto his back.

He gave a little grunt of surprise. The darkness was so complete that she could see nothing; it was as if he existed only where she touched him. She slid downward, her mouth moving along the line of hair that ran down the center of his abdomen, picturing it in her mind, dark against the white skin, following its path and sucking, licking, biting her way down until she felt the velvet tip of his penis against her face. She heard his sharply indrawn breath as she begin kissing it, at first lightly and then more insistently. She gently slid the foreskin back and ran her tongue around the head. Then abruptly, greedily, she took the whole shaft in her mouth as far as it would go, pushing down against him and opening her throat to receive him. This, yes, she thought, as his sharp smell filled her nostrils, and heard him say, thickly, "Rawa," and then "ah, god . . . ah . . . that . . ." as she worked up and down on the shaft, one hand leading and then following her mouth, her thumb and forefinger sliding along the wet skin.

His penis curved upward slightly, and as her mouth traveled along it, she could feel the blood surging under the skin beneath her tongue. She tasted the first salty drops of fluid and thought, Ya, sí, vente, mi vida, and took him as deeply as she could, feeling his hands clutching at her hair, and hearing with a sense of triumph the animal sounds now escaping him as control slipped away and he buried himself in her mouth.

Then, suddenly, he said, "Wait. Wait," and reached under her arms and pulled her up, pulled her on top of him, groaning as she lowered herself onto his penis. "Wait. Hold still. Still. Just . . . still. Just one minute."

"Dame," she whispered, and ground into him, her small breasts swaying over his face in the darkness as she rocked forward. He grasped her hips and pulled her to him, driving upwards against her. She was frantic with desire, pushing down against him and making little whimpering noises, and she reached back and took one of his hands and dragged it forward, touching his thumb to her clitoris. He reacted immediately, pressing against the tiny hardness and stroking his thumb in little circles. A great wave of heat and pleasure engulfed her, and she cried out, her body convulsing once and collapsing forward onto him.

As her breathing began to return to normal, she realized he was still hard inside her, and she began again to move against him, feeling his hands tighten on her buttocks as she rose and fell. His breathing grew ragged, and she said aloud, "Vente, mi amor, vente ya," and he thrust ferociously into her again and again, and then was still.

They lay for a long time, the sweat cooling on their skin.

"My door was locked," she said finally.

"Silly girl," he said. "Do you think the lock exists that can keep me out of a room I wish to enter?"

"If I wanted to keep you out," she said, "do you really think you would have been able to get in?"

There was another long silence, and then he asked, "What is vente? You said that to Malfoy, in the duel."

"I said it to Malfoy's wand, not to him. Ni se te ocurra."

"And it means?"

"Come," she said. "But not just come. Come is ven. Vente is more, it is stronger, I cannot explain it, it is like, bring yourself to me."

She turned toward him and laid her forehead against his shoulder. He reached across with his other arm and gently stroked her hair, and she gave herself up to sleep.

When she woke in the morning, he was gone.