Son Of A Beach or Slippery When Wet

Chapter Two: Son of a Beach or Slippery When Wet

Authors: Zambonigirl and Michmak

ANs: Michmak: sorry for the delay – I've been ill with pneumonia. Anything truly odd in this chapter can be blamed on the drugs I'm on and Zambi's complete willingness to humor me.

Zambonigirl: I wrote only a few pages of this, Mich needs to be on psychedelic drugs more often if it gets her to write this much. I did, however, proofread and fix the garish grammatical errors that my pissed counterpart made in her drugged-out stupor. I hope you all like this and have a Merry Christmakwanzukkahstice!

Albus Dumbledore's villa in Agios Stefanos, on the island of Mykonos, Greece was situated rather prettily on the beach, not up farther on the hill like most of the homes were. It was bright and airy and cheerful, decorated with Greek flair in bright colors and sturdy furniture and cool marble floors.

They had arrived in the evening, just as the sun was setting. The horizon was ablaze with oranges, reds and pinks and the evening sky, where the sun no longer touched, was a light purple. Hermione was enraptured.

"I can't believe you agreed to this, Severus!" she exclaimed happily as she opened a set of louvered doors that led out to the beach. "You've always told me you hated beaches!"

He scowled at her. "I do," he responded. "Too much sand and too bloody hot."

She ignored him however and ran down the beach to stick her toes into the azure waters that gently lapped against the shore. Before he knew it she had waded out above her knees, the tops of the small waves soaking the edges of the skirt she was wearing. The material clung to her legs wetly, giving him a rather erotic view of her slightly plump thighs. He gulped.

"What are you doing, you silly girl?" he managed to grit out, as he approached the edge of the beach warily. "Get out of that water at once!"

"Come in a make me," Hermione replied saucily. Her lithe fingers were making quick work of the buttons of her shirt. "I want to swim!"

Snape blinked at her, trying to ignore the shadows her half open shirt were making. He could easily see the slim column of her throat, and the rather prominent collarbones at the nape of her neck. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to snap them or stroke them, and the ambiguous feelings she was illiciting within him were making him angry.

"I shall not tell you again, Miss Granger! Get out of that water immediately!"

"No," Hermione retorted. "For one thing, you are not my professor anymore, so you can't order me about. Furthermore, this 'Miss Granger' crap is getting rather old. I refuse to respond to you if you cannot call me be my proper name."

"GET. OUT. OF. THE. WATER!" Snape bellowed. "Do not make me come in there after you!"

Hermione ignored him. Impossible little minx! What the hell had Albus been thinking, sending them there? He would kill her for sure. Grumbling, he sat gingerly on the beach and removed his boots. His socks were next to go. Just who did the chit think she was? The feeling of the sand between his toes was slightly off-putting. How dare she refuse to listen to him? She thought he was her husband! Weren't wives supposed to do everything their husbands demanded of them? That's the way it had been in his family. When his father – Merlin rot him - said 'Jump,' his mother always responded with, 'How high?' Miss Granger...Hermione...was definitely not behaving like a proper wife.

The water was warm – warmer than he had been expecting. Gritting his teeth, he stepped further in, ignoring the way his black woolen pants clung to his calves. By the time he was within striking distance of her, the tails of his frock coat were sopping wet.

She was laughing at him. "Severus, why didn't you take off your coat, at the very least? The salt water is going to ruin it for sure."

"You are an irritating little baggage," he responded tightly, "and how I ever ended up saddled with you is beyond my comprehension. Now, get your delectable little ass out of the water!"

Delectable? Did he just tell her she had a delectable ass? What the hell was wrong with him?

"Make me," she cooed, as she lunged to the side, trying to move herself out of striking distance.

"I intend too," he retorted, as he followed, easily grabbing her around the waist. "You forget my dear, I was a spy – I have the reflexes of an asp. You won't get away from me that easily!"

Hermione grinned up into his sneering face, throwing him off guard when she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Who says I want to get away," she murmured, suddenly flinging him off-balance by throwing her entire weight onto him. She did not weigh much, but the surprise knocked Snape off his feet, and they fell into the water.

They both went completely over and under the water and when he emerged from the unexpected dunking, she was straddling him and laughing. "You should see the look on your face," she giggled, lifting a hand to gingerly push some of his wet hair to the side. He could feel a droplet of water sliding down the edge of his nose and lurched when she leaned forward and gently licked it away. Her hair was clinging to his arms and his face as he sputtered at her in surprise, trying to ignore the sudden hot rush of blood through his system.

"Miss...Hermione," he managed to grit out, "I must insist you stop this at once."

"Whatever for?" she smiled at him, "I rather like the wet-look on you."

"This is not appropriate behavior," Snape responded icily.

"I've licked more than your nose before," Hermione teased. "I don't see what the big deal is."

Snape closed his eyes. How to respond to that? The maddening wench thought they were married. What's more, with her clothes clinging to her wetly, and her clinging to him like a limpet, his body was starting to wonder why the hell he wasn't just playing along. He groaned when she tilted her face to the side and traced her tongue across his jawbone.

"Hermione," he murmured. "Hermione...have you forgotten Poppy's explicit orders that you get some rest? You have a concussion, if you recall. I fail to see how ... accosting me in the water is following those rather pointed instructions."

"You want me to stop?" she whispered into the shell of his ear, her warm breath causing shivers to run up and down his skin.

"You must," he replied. "I don't want you becoming ill..."

"Fine," Hermione pouted at him. "But I have to tell you, I feel marvelous. I don't think I have a concussion at all and if I didn't know better I'd think you were trying to ...delay the inevitable." She smirked at this last part as she let her bottom slide down a bit more firmly into his lap. "It's fairly obvious you want me."

Snape was confused at the air of confidence and prowess she was currently exuding. While Hermione had been an assertive student, she had never let on that she had a more sensual side and Snape wondered briefly how many of her classmates had enjoyed the pleasure of her lascivious company. There had never been any rumors, but Snape found it difficult to believe that this much sensuality had been bottled up for the past few years.

"Hermione, stop this at once," he groaned when her hands moved between them in the warm salt water.

"If you insist," she said a little tartly. Then, to his relief and displeasure, she disentangled herself from him and began to walk back towards the villa, her school shirt clinging to her peachy skin and leaving nothing to the imagination.

As though some alien force was pulling him, Snape found himself following her. His eyes were fixed on her full bottom, shown delectably underneath the gray skirt that had risen above her rear end. She was wearing white cotton panties which were now clinging wetly and translucently to her buttocks and he found his fingers itching to trace the shaded cleft of her bottom. Her arse was enticing.

His reverie was short lived however, as with every step sand and grit found its way into places that he had heretofore been ignorant of. "Good lord!" he shouted, stopping in his tracks, his thick woolen clothing sticking to him like concrete bandages. He felt three hundred pounds heavier, and every movement rubbed the wool and sand against his skin even harder. Twenty odd steps so far, and he already felt rubbed raw!

"What is it, love?" Hermione asked, running towards him, her breasts bouncing against her skin-tight blouse.

"I'm suffocating!" he snapped back at her angrily, trying to look at her face and not her bosom. Was she even wearing a bra under that wet shirt? It appeared the answer was no.

"Here, take off your jacket," Hermione suggested, pulling on the back of his collar.

Snape was about to protest when the cool evening air hit his shoulders, allowing his skin to breathe for a few moments. Scowling mutely, he allowed her to pull it off of him the rest of the way.

"Now your pants," she decided, her hands going for his buttons.

"That's quite enough," he growled, grasping her hand tightly.

"But Severus! You..."

"Are naked beneath," he whispered through gritted teeth, his hand still holding hers to him.

Hermione looked up at him with a very mischievous gaze, her brown eyes full of lust. "Of course you are," she mumbled, moving her hand even closer to the bulge in his pants. "I want to help you with that, too."

Snape sighed and released her hand, practically pushing her away from him in the process. "Hermione, we can't. If anything horrible were to happen to you, I'd never forgive myself." Damn Albus and his brilliant ideas! Damn his twinkling eyes! Damn Hermione!

Moving stiffly, Snape began his trek back to the villa, attempting to ignore his physical discomfort. Unfortunately, there was little that was graceful or swift about his movements.

Once inside, he tried to move himself to the bathroom in order to remove his wet clothes and dry himself off with some semblance of privacy. Hermione, however, was too quick for him, entering the bathroom on his heels and removing her clothing and swathing herself in a towel before he could find the words to protest. He managed to look away as her skirt came off, and only turned around when she announced herself as covered.

"Really, Severus! One would think that you've never seen me naked before!"

Snape didn't comment, he only sighed and wondered how long it would take before she left him alone. He then managed to suppress a surprised epithet when she began to undress him once more, her body pressed intimately to his.

"Hermione, need I remind you that this is completely inappropriate behavior?"

Hermione chuckled as she plucked the buttons to his vest open. "Inappropriate again, Severus? I've only hit my head, nothing too dangerous. I don't see why we can't have a little bit of fun, as long as we don't get too rowdy."

Snape sighed a long-suffering sigh. This was going to be impossible. Did she think of anything other than sex? "Hermione, please. I wish to shower. Give me some time alone."

It was torture to push her away from him, but it was torture keeping her there, as well. She gave him a slightly hurt look before she left, but he tried to ignore it. He got hurt looks all the time. He wasn't about to relent because of a Gryffindor know-it-all. Just because she thought he was her husband didn't change anything between them. He still found her insufferable, and extremely annoying. Sure, she was beautiful, and her breasts were pert and probably softer than a baby's bottom. Not that he'd ever touched a baby's bottom. Or a baby for that matter. But that was the saying, wasn't it? There was no questioning her intelligence – everyone knew she was the brightest witch of her age, perhaps of the century. That didn't change the fact that her personality was lacking in the basic social skills or that she had a depraved mind.

Snape realized with a disgusted snort that he was practically describing himself, aside from the "beautiful" part, and the part about the breasts.

Suddenly very confused, he stripped down completely and turned the shower on as hot as it would go. Working very hard to remove himself of all the itchy salt, grit, and wool fibers that were currently plaguing him he vowed to push thoughts of Hermione from his mind.

If only it were that easy.

What in the world had Albus been thinking, sending him to this – tropical paradise – with Granger in tow? Albus knew him – KNEW HIM – for Merlin's sake. The old geezer knew the depravities to which Snape could sink. Twenty-odd years as a spy for the man, twenty-odd years of trying to live down his decision to become a Death-Eater....hell, Albus knew the things he had done. Why in the world would the crazy old codger think Hermione would be safe with him, of all people?

Grabbing a loofah he started rubbing his already raw skin viciously, closing his eyes and resting his head against the cold tile. He had only been with her here less than an hour and he was already at his wits end. The girl was throwing herself at him at every turn, reaching out to touch him and stroke him at every opportunity. She was teasing him, laughing at his scowls and ill-humor...she was actually smiling at him....

When had anyone smiled at him before, in genuine pleasure? When had anyone ever willingly reached out a hand to him, to stroke his hair? He was not a man used to gentleness, or tenderness – not from anyone. And for this...irritating, obnoxious...brilliant, lovely young witch to think she was married to him? That they frequently shared each others physical company? That she found him as sexually stimulating and attractive as he was suddenly finding her? It was too much to fathom.

And he had hurt her feelings. He had rebuffed her – oh, he knew he had to do it, but couldn't he perhaps have been more gentle? After all, it had been fairly obvious that his body was responding to hers. Would it kill him to play the concerned husband and lover for just a little while, until she was back on her feet again and in charge of her mental facilities?

He didn't have to actually ...sleep... with her, of course. He wouldn't take things that far – but would it hurt him to perhaps treat her a little more kindly? To perhaps further her in her belief that they were married, that he was indeed her husband? Albus himself had said he needed to act the part – he could do that.

And if, by allowing this little pretense to carry forth, he was recipient to more of her gentle touches and brilliant smiles – wasn't that the least he deserved? He was only human after all, and despite what anyone might think, physical contact was not something he shunned. Nor was the company of a beautiful woman...he had just become so used to shutting out other people before they could shut him out that it had become something of a habit.

Could he break the habit of decades to help Hermione retain her sanity? Dare he not?

Could he help her without losing himself in the process? Or would allowing himself to pretend that this – marriage – was real; that they did share a life together...would that break him in the end?

Regardless, it was something he must do – and do convincingly. He had never balked at a job Albus had assigned him before and he wasn't about to allow the Granger chit to become the first. Turning off the shower, vowing to himself that he would treat her more gently in future, he stepped from the stall and wrapped a towel around his lean waist.

Mumbling a quick anti-steam charm, he studied himself morosely in the mirror. Why ever would any one want to pretend to be married to him? He was nothing to look at, this much he knew. He was a foul, loathsome human being – the great bat of the dungeons. It was an image he had taken time to build over the years; one that served him well. If he went against his very nature and did as Albus asked, when Hermione's memories returned – what then? Would she have a good laugh at him behind his back and mock his eagerness to act the part of her besotted husband? Or would she curse him for not telling her the truth immediately? Would she accuse him of taking advantage of her?

He didn't know what to do. Sighing, he finished drying himself off before stepping out into the darkened bedroom. He could vaguely make out a decidedly Hermione-like lump in the middle of the bed and wondered if she was sleeping.

Moving silently to her side, he looked down at her intently. Her bushy hair was in disarray around her and she was clutching a pillow to her stomach. In the soft moonlight barely lighting the room, he could make out the shiny track of tears down her face. He had made her cry.

Sighing to himself, he reached out a hand and gently stroked her hair, arranging it a bit more tidily on the bed. When she suddenly opened her eyes to look at him, he didn't allow himself to flinch.

"You shouldn't be crying," he whispered hoarsely. "Not because of me."

Her hand reached up, her fingers tangling gently with his own. "I shouldn't have been teasing you like that," she responded sleepily. "I know you would never do anything to hurt me...I know Poppy told you not to make love to me again until she gave the all clear."

Snape felt his heart pounding in his throat. When had he ever made love to anybody? He didn't even know what that meant.

"Hermione...I want you to know, I would never willingly do anything to hurt you."

"I know that Severus." She pulled on his hand gently. "Please tell me you're at least going to join me? We haven't slept apart since we got married and I don't want to start now. I promise to keep my hands to myself."

Snape sighed, even as he let her pull him down beside her on the bed. "Please Severus, I don't want to sleep alone."

It was the please that did him in. How could he refuse her? Hadn't he just vowed to himself to act the part of the doting husband? Unmindful of the fact that all he wore was a towel, he allowed himself to slide under the sheets with her, sighing as she inched closer to him and threw her leg across his. Her free hand wrapped around his waist as she snuggled into him, never letting go of the other hand she had clasped firmly in her own.

TBC

AN: Michmak is insisting on a song. She's got pneumonia. Everyone be nice to her and read the song. It's called "If We Try" by Don McLean, one of my favorite guys as well.