3: Recipes for Lemons

Disclaimer: Not mine. No gano ningun dinero de esto. Unless someone wants to bribe me to stop.

Thank Southern_Witch_69 and PlaidPooka for issuing the Makeover SexGod!Snape Challenge over at Potter_Place, for inspiring this fic. (If you like it, that is.) If you don't like it, forgive them. It's not their fault I can resist anything but temptation--or that I wrote something so long it could only be considered a one-shot if being fired from a WWI railway cannon.

Chapter 3: Recipes for Lemons

Together, they Apparated to an alley near Hermione's place. Hermione was evidently one of those who experienced a certain degree of post-Apparation nausea. She took a great deal of time clinging to him, her legs trembling, before they were ready to proceed. He put the time to good use, enjoying the ideal manner in which her curves conformed to his person. Taking in the fragrance of her hair wasn't too bad, either. Although, he was certain he could formulate something more perfectly suited to her own personal chemistry than the pleasant, but pedestrian, fragrance of French lavender. He inhaled again, analyzing the olfactory input for the underlying scent of Hermione. Hmmm. More research would be required. Happy thought, that...

Hermione didn't particularly notice how intently the tall, strong man holding her was sniffing at her hair. She was too busy reveling in the combination of clean laundry, bittersweet herbs, and warm, slightly musky male that was eau de Severus. Not to mention calculating how long she could get away with holding him, under the pretext of feeling shaky after Apparating. Hmmm. Those were some really nice muscles in his thighs and chest, and the warm, lean back she was clutching felt promising as well. Research was such a pleasant pastime...

Eventually, someone's stomach grumbled. Hermione pulled away from Severus and giggled. He tried another small smile, and was rewarded with one of those fetching glances from beneath her eyelashes. Mental note: when in doubt, smile at her.

"Shall we see about that takeaway?" he asked, offering her his arm again.

"Definitely," she answered, taking his proffered arm and snuggling against him slightly. This was really quite easy to get used to, they both thought.

In fairly short order, they had dinner in hand and made their way to Hermione's tiny flat. The food on the small, round table crammed into the corner could have been anything; they were too intent on each other to bother about tasting it properly. Conversation and a modest but respectable bottle of wine were flowing freely. They had progressed through Hermione's apprenticeship, Severus' research, the latest issue of Ars Alchemica, a bit of gossip (saved from awkwardness due the mutually acknowledged psychological neon sign hanging over them both, reading "Don't Mention Potter"), to Severus ruefully recounting his uncharacteristic failure to escape Minerva.

Hermione grinned at him mischievously. "Don't tell me your evasion technique is faltering in your old age," she teased.

If that earlier remark about 'pudding' hadn't been burned into his brain, he might have taken exception to that. "I'm not even middle-aged, for a Wizard," he snorted. "Perhaps I merely allowed her to believe she was maneuvering me into attending the function. I have been known to have the odd ulterior motive." There. He had simultaneously saved face and stuck his neck out. Hermione could not be so obtuse as to think that the ulterior motive was anything other than seeing her, not when he was favoring her with his most sultry smirk.

It was very tempting to drag out the banter, which had been quite enjoyable thus far. But Hermione's brash side was asserting itself, and she felt like upping the ante a bit. "Either way, I'm glad you came," she said, opting for sincerity. Her glowing cinnamon eyes locked with his.

Before he could formulate a reply (verbal or otherwise), her face was split by a yawn. "Sorry," she said, coloring sheepishly, "it must be later than I thought."

Severus felt a moment's uncertainty. Had they been proceeding too quickly? Was she trying to give him a graceful out? "Perhaps I should call it a night," he said nonchalantly, standing and lifting his coat from the chair.

Hermione stood as well and walked around the table to stand before him. "Must you go?" she asked. She stood just at the border of personal space and licked her lips. If he was at all inclined to head to the next level, she had just given him the perfect opening.

"I think I could be persuaded to stay," he said, dropping his coat as if it were on fire.

Evidently, this was a sign in some sort of secret language, reading, 'You May Now Invade This Man's Personal Space and Snog the Living Daylights Out of Him.' How unsurprising, yet welcome, that the lovely young know–it–all should be literate in that language.

The coat may not have been on fire, but Hermione certainly was. And he was damned if he were going to drop her, even if it meant being reduced to ashes. Had he been thinking with any organ above his neck, he might have jealously wondered on whom she had been practicing her kissing technique. Her lips were like agile fingers, massaging his lips millimeter by millimeter; and her actual fingers, five of which were sensuously twining into his hair and five of which were caressing his arse, were not bad little masseuses either. He threw subtlety to the wind and began to devour her mouth ravenously.

She was warm, soft, and absolutely delicious. Judging by the soft moans vibrating from her throat to his tongue (which in and of itself was a spectacular sensation), his contribution to the kiss was entirely to her liking. And just in case the moaning was insufficient to convince him, she hooked one leg over his hip and began wantonly grinding against the length of his erection, which was absolutely flourishing in the face of her enthusiasm. Hmm, mustn't let her lovely little leg do all the work. A helping hand cupped under that nicely curved bum would not be amiss. Yes, subtlety was overrated.

So, this was how to make takeaway sweet-and-sour and mid-priced wine taste much, much better the second time around. Next time, perhaps they could skip the wine. He was certain they could intoxicate each other much more quickly without it.

Speaking of getting rid of wine... Damn.

He managed to ease his mouth from hers, and she promptly fastened those talented lips to his throat. She was not making this any easier. "Hermione," he gasped.

"Ohhh, Severus," she moaned indistinctly against his neck. The vibrations from her voice shot a line of electricity from his earlobe straight to his cock.

"Hold... hold that thought, darling," he stammered throatily. "I have some business to, umm, attend to-- "

Clever girl that she was, she hardly required him to draw a picture. "That door," she panted, pulling away from him to gesture. "I'll be in the bedroom," she called over her shoulder, stepping through the other doorway.

"I'll be quick," he promised fervently. That was a promise about which he felt no qualms.

He was washing up when a familiar voice accosted him from the tub.

"Pssst... Sev! How's it going?" A whiskery nose peered around the shower curtain. Ahhh, Reggie. He supposed he should feel a little wary, considering his history with this particular creature and lavatories, but he was far too elated at the moment.

"Swimmingly, Reggie," he said, quickly drying his hands. "I'd love to chat, but I have an urgent appointment with, as you so eloquently put it, a 'love-a-licious little bint.'

Reggie cautiously peered a little further from her hiding place. He seemed sincere, but it could be a ruse to get her within jinxing distance. "So... do you have your heart's desire?"

Severus' hand snaked out at her. Before Regina could escape, she was frozen in place--by shock. It was understandable, really, because she was having her ears scratched... very... very... nicely... by Severus Snape.

"More so by the minute," he positively purred. Giving her a final pat on the head and whispering, "Thank you, Regina Fletcher," he slipped out the door.

The Jarvey was glassy-eyed. "Yummy, yummy, yummy. Ooooh, he gives yummy ear scratches. Hermione Granger, you sure know how to spot the clever-fingered diamond in the greasy dung heap, don't you?" she mumbled. "Lucky bitch."

Severus entered the bedroom to find a dresser, a bed, a nightstand with Hermione's wand on it, walls full of overflowing bookshelves, a rather ugly ginger cat asleep on its own chair in the corner, and Hermione herself, lounging on the bed.

What he did not find was any trace of that lovely turquoise gown she had been wearing.

Not that he found that cause for complaint.

Hermione smirked at the expression on his face. "See anything you like?" she asked.

"From this angle, I see everything I like," he replied. It was absolutely true. She was posed rather like Manet's painting 'Olympia,' looking every bit as self-assured, youthful, and casually sensuous. Except that Hermione's breasts and hips were much, much nicer than Olympia's.

Saucily, she queried, "Well, let's have a little more talk and a lot more action then, hmm?"

She rolled onto her stomach. That was an excellent angle; it showed off the dip of her lower back and arch of her lovely little arse perfectly. Severus considered himself a connoisseur of female arses, and Hermione's easily met his standards.

"Isn't the expression, 'a little less talk and a lot more action?'" he inquired.

"Yes, but I want to hear that sexy voice of yours as much as possible tonight," she breathed, angling up onto her side to fix him with a sultry stare.

"I'll see what I can do," came his silkiest purr. This was the nice silky purr, the one reserved for most welcome company of the witchly persuasion. It looked as if he might be getting to use it more often.

Severus shook his wand from his sleeve with a flourish and ran it along the front of his waistcoat from bottom to top, each button popping open as he went. He then proceeded to repeat the process with his shirt, this time from the top down, continuing to the buttons of his fly.

Hermione chided him. "Foolish wand waving from Severus Snape? Who would have guessed?"

"My dear Hermione, I have not yet begun to wield my wand," he said, leering. He dropped his ebony wand beside her vine wood one and toed off his boots.

Later, he would reflect that it was very domestic, seeing the two wands side by side on the nightstand. At that moment, he was much more interested in finally getting to that incredibly satisfying moment where their two bodies were side by side on the bed, pressed together as if by permanent Sticking Charm.

Hermione was pleased to see that her initial hypothesis was correct. Severus' body was long, lean, and palely muscular. Especially long.

The first naked kiss was always the best, she reflected as they both exhaled heavily, melting into each other's arms. The first time bare breasts pressed against bare chest, the moment when the promising bulge in his trousers was revealed for the silk coated steel rod it was, perfect for grinding against...

"Hermione, love," Severus rumbled warningly, "If you keep that up, I may be too distracted to talk." Make this good, old man, he thought. You don't want this to end up a one-off. Not with the lovely handfuls those darling breasts of hers make...

"You just keep that up, and we'll manage," she gasped. Hermione's mind wandered. New long-term research project: determine which is more stimulating, his sexy baritone voice or his long, nimble fingers, she thought distractedly, grinding faster.

Suddenly, she felt the tell-tale tingling warmth washing from the juncture of her thighs, down her legs and up her belly. Already? She managed to think, before the minor orgasm stole the breath from her throat in a surprised shriek. Her arms and legs tightened on him convulsively, and as was her habit at the moment of climax, she bit him.

With a yelp, he rolled her to the side. His anger abated slightly upon seeing the starry-eyed look on her face. Granted, it was flattering that she was so responsive to him that he could elicit such a reaction with a bit of fondling; but damnit, his nose hurt. "Ferocious little thing, aren't you?" he finally managed. "You know if you don't like my nose, that's still no reason to bite it off."

"I happen to adore your nose," she replied, kissing said appendage. At his disbelieving snort, she laughed and caressed his offended nose again. "I do! It's very masculine. I don't have any use for pretty boys."

"Fortunately for you, I am neither pretty," he said, drawing her close again, "nor am I a mere boy."

"That is patently obvious," she said with a sultry smile and pulled him into another kiss.

They had really both intended to draw out the foreplay. But about five kisses and seven or so assorted gropes into Severus' lurid description of what he would like her to do when they played Naughty Hairdresser and her Studly Customer, they tossed buildup into the nearest bin. She wrapped her legs around him and impaled herself on his shaft as he buried his face in her breasts as if he were a starved cat faced with two scoops of Florean Fortescue's finest.

"Fuck me, Severus, fuck me, Severus, fuck me Severus fuck meSeverusfuckmeSeverusfuckfuck," she chanted, faster and faster and more breathily, until she was gasping in ecstatic incoherency. With a shriek, her eyes rolled backwards, and her walls clamped around his painfully hard cock.

"Her-MIII-o-nee," he moaned, as she twisted and bucked beneath him, clawing and biting (at his shoulders, this time).

Slow and subtle would have to wait until the next round. He needed to pump into her as fast as possible, pump until the friction seemed likely to burn out all that lubrication from the sheer heat, at which point his head would fly back, his face would seize up, and he would he would--

"Uh – uff – YES – UHHHHHN."

Pure bliss.

His final coherent thought (surfacing somewhere along his descent from the heights of their mutual orgasm to the enveloping depths of sleep) was admiration for her ability to remain articulate for so long... His vocabulary had been reduced to "ohhh," "YES!" and a few polysyllabic groans for the last ten minutes.

Hermione was content just to stare at the ceiling for a bit. It was a plain, off-white ceiling with a hint of cobweb in the corner and a few slight cracks. There was nothing special about it, which made it a perfect counterpoint to the sensory overload of the past hour or so.

The kisses alone were mind blowing. Where the hell did he learn to kiss like that? His thin, agile lips could tickle hers like a passing butterfly. They could also attack her mouth as fiercely as a shark, trying to devour her from the inside out. And everything between those two extremes, from the tickle of ignition to the devouring inferno, was red hot and absolutely to die for.

Then, there was his voice. It must have undertones detectable only by elephants and seismographs. It was not only sexy; it seemed to have the effect of gently vibrating all of her internal organs. It was too bad he had trouble articulating during orgasm, but they could work on that.

As for the rest... Well, not only was he an incredibly skilled lover who could make her toes curl at just the memory of his touch, but beyond doubt he could brew up something to deal with the residual fatigue, soreness, stubble burn...

It's good to be shagging the Potions master.

Severus was snoring beside her now, having definitely earned his rest. Were it not for his virtuoso performance, Hermione might have been a bit put out that he didn't remain awake for a nice post-coital chat and cuddle. As it was, she was sufficiently satisfied that she decided to regard the blissful smile on his face as a most flattering compliment. As long as he was sound asleep and not entangled with her, she might as well take the opportunity to use the loo.

Hermione caressed his hair briefly, luxuriating in the softness of it. I wonder why it always used to look so greasy? she thought, idly. Finally, she gave him a kiss on the cheek, whispering, "Severus, love, you are an absolute sex god."

He made a slightly smug affirmative sound in his sleep as she slipped out of bed and into her robe to fend off the chill.

If she hobbled slightly as she walked, no one was awake to see it but Crookshanks. And he wasn't telling.

Having attended to business, Hermione was at the sink when a familiar wedge-shaped head popped out of her bathtub.

"So, missy," Regina said with a grin, "how did things work out between you and your Greater Large-Nose Wanker?"

Startled, Hermione hurled the soap in the general direction of the sound. When she saw the ferret-like face, she relaxed. "Reggie! What are you doing here?"

"Damn! One little shag together, and already you're sporting matching hair-trigger tempers!" Reg exclaimed, leaping to safety on the shower curtain. Regina was in the business because she liked to help, her vocabulary notwithstanding. But sometimes, constant assaults from the beneficiaries of her services took the warm glow off her instinct for selflessness.

"It was more than just a little shag," Hermione corrected smugly.

"Bleeding, fucking hell, woman, spare me the details. Although I have to say, he certainly has the equipment for it... "

Hermione's eyes narrowed to slits of suspicion as she studied her furry benefactor. "Why were you looking at his 'equipment?'"

"Calmate, brujita. I assure you, it was purely incidental, in the course of my professional duties as your Fairy God-Jarvey," Regina replied, in a voice that would prevent butter melting on an afternoon in August.

Hermione snorted. "Riiight. But I have to know... How did you get his head out of his arse long enough to actually see that I enjoy his company and wanted more of it?" Her brows drew together in worry. "You use any sort of, um, mind-altering substance?"

Regina bristled. "That's bloody well uncalled for! The Code of Conduct for the International Fellowship of Fairy Godmothers and Other Do-Gooding Beings clearly states that no mind control device, spell, or drug, may be employed at any time, for any reason, during an assignment. Not even to save one's own arse."

No rule against getting around someone's overly conservative judgment with a little well-intentioned psychological warfare, though, Reggie added internally. This could very well qualify as her Master project. Gaining her godchild's desire by pretending to be someone else's Fairy God-Jarvey had to be worth several points for creativity, at least.

Hell, pretending to be Snape's Fairy God-Jarvey should be worth a medal for bravery in the all-too-literal line-of-fire. Though it had been a bit of fun as well, dealing with the prickly bastard. Never before had she actually been given good cause to use her naturally flowing profanity.

"I'm sorry, Reg. I didn't mean to call your ethics into question. But tell me--did that inarticulate fop at the ball have anything to do with it? You know, inspiring Severus to jealousy by evoking L-Lockhart--that sort of thing?"

"Something like that. I can't reveal trade secrets, after all. I strongly recommend you don't ever mention that bloke to Sir Snark-a-Lot, though," Regina said seriously, trying to envision herself at the mercy of a famished Acromantula in an effort to restrain a fit of laughter.

"Fine by me. I'd just as soon forget 'Gary Garish' myself," Hermione replied with a grimace.

"So, are you satisfied with the results of my efforts on your behalf? Did I deliver the opportunities you requested, do you now have your heart's desire, etc., etc., etc.?" Reggie asked. "I gotta go through the motions of administering the survey, otherwise I catch hell from management."

Hermione gently placed one hand on either side of Reggie's silky little head, leaned forward, and kissed her right between the ears. "Yes, to all those questions," she said softly. "You're the greatest, Reg."

Goodbye, Regina Fletcher, FG-JJ1; Hello, Regina Fletcher, MFG-J, Reggie thought giddily.

Reggie grinned, whiskers wriggling happily. The odd glow to her face strongly suggested she was blushing under her fur. "Aw, bugger it, I'm just your fairy god-Jarvey," she scoffed. "Hell, even those brain-dead tossers in management were able to figure out you deserved your heart's desire, after being so instrumental in assuring that the bloody Chosen One and his chuffing sidekick survived the war intact. You're practically an honorary colleague. Yell for me if you have any trouble with old Pain-in-the-Arse, okay?"

After Hermione promised to do so, Regina Fletcher vanished in a puff of silver smoke.

And they all lived snarkily ever after.

Not quite FIN

Author's Notes:

Regina's (and the Summary's) Spanish Comments:

Por lo mas: For the most part.

No gano ningun dinero de esto: I don't earn any money from this

Calmate, brujita: calm yourself, little witch.

Technical Stuff:

FG-JJ1: Fairy God-Jarvey, Journeywoman (First Class)

MFG-J: Master Fairy God-Jarvey

A/N: LariLee is SuperBeta. I will be burning little incense interrogatives in her honor to remind me how to punctuate properly. Little known fact: she is Executive Director of the National Comma Relocation Project.

Everything you have just read is entirely fictitious-with the slight exception of Snape's hair problem. Although I have exaggerated (substantially) for comic effect, this is rather similar to what happens when my husband grows his incredibly stiff hair out. Only copious quantities of slimy, disgusting, styling substances keep it under some semblance of control past a certain length. Not having a fairy god-Jarvey to rewrite his follicular DNA, he keeps it cut to half an inch long or shorter to avoid the bother.

If you remember what Hermione's Patronus is, you can figure out why she bites her mate on the nose during sex! *grin*

There is a short (for me) epilogue, if LariLee is willing to beta it. May God and Douglas Adams have mercy on my soul.