Wanting

Author's Note: I apologize in advance. Smut is not my forte, as you will soon find out. But practice makes perfect, I suppose.

I would like to thank my Muse Goddess, Chelsea, for putting up with me while I repeated endlessly that I had no idea what I was doing.

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"Hermione, I don't understand," Snape said, tensing as Hermione laid a hand on his chest. "Do you want us to–" he paused, fishing around for the right word, "consumate our marriage?"

Hermione blushed furiously, but nodded resolutely. "If we're going to live a normal, married life, we will have to do it eventually." She bit her lip, lowering her eyes. "Especially if we want children."

"How long has it been since you've been with a man?" Snape demanded, bluntly. Her attitude and actions led him to believe that it had been a while since the last time, if it had even happened at all.

"In the beginning of my seventh year at Hogwarts," Hermione said softly, now flushing a bright crimson. "Ron and I were still dating and..." She broke off, embarrassed.

Of course, Snape sneered inwardly, Ronald Weasley. He was probably just as clumsy in bed as he was doing everything else. N o wonder Hermione was anxious to try it again, especially since so many years had passed since then.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Snape said finally. "You're just going to be disappointed. I'm nothing like Ron was. I'm nearly fifty, and I assure you there is nothing beneath my robes that is particularly worthy of notice. Trust me, you don't want to do this."

"Yes, I do!" Hermione declared insistently, perhaps a little too suddenly.

Snape arched a brow. "Do you?" He whispered, in the same eerie tone that had haunted her as a student. She shivered. "At best, you will be disappointed. At worst, disgusted. I doubt you want that."

Suddenly, Hermione scowled. "Why don't you let me make up my own mind, hmm?" Snape was taken aback but this sudden outburst. "I never claimed to want another Ron, and for your information, I don't. Just stop being so bloody insecure, and stop making excuses!"

"Fine!" Snape snarled, sitting up in the makeshift bed. "If you really want to see this, here it is!" He flung off the black nightshirt, and Hermione's eyes widened immediately. He was pale and gaunt, and Hermione could swear his ribs were all but protruding from his sickly colored skin. But what horrified her were the scars, the long lashes and small, angry red welts. Snape could feel her staring at them, and felt a wave of revulsion wash over him.

"Some of the delightful results of the Cruciatus Curse," he informed her, breathing heavily as he fought to ignore the memories. "You see? I am nothing but a broken, old man."

But Hermione wasn't listening to him. She was gently running her fingers over his chest, wincing every time she touched the scarred tissue as if it had been her own body that was wounded. A pitying look came into her eyes, and Snape immediately grew self-conscious and wary.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be," Snape growled harshly, roughly pushing her hand away. "I did my part, and I do not deserve nor desire your pity."

Although she recoiled as he pushed her away, Hermione did the one thing that instinct was telling her to do: she threw her arms around him, hugging him close. Snape seemed at a lose for both words and action, but he did not try to pry himself out of her embrace. Gently Hermione leaned forward, planting a kiss on Snape's lips. To Hermione's embarrassment, Snape pulled back immediately. But then he leaned forward, returning the kiss with a surprising amount of passion.

Hermione ranger her fingers through Snape's hair, pulling his head closer to her own. His own self-control disintegrated. Snape wrapped his arm around her back pulling her onto his lap. A side of Snape that Hermione had never known existed–that he himself had not known existed– emerged, planting a row of kisses down Hermione's neck. Hermione purred, returning his kisses.

Slowly Snape lay back against the pillow, gently pulling Hermione down until she was lying next to him. She instinctively snuggled up against him. This action, this seemingly innocent action coming from none other than Hermione Granger, seemed to awaken whatever passion Snape had left in him. His fingers flew to the buttons of her blouse, suddenly eager to get the damned thing off her. However, as soon as the first hint of cleavage caught his eye, he stopped abruptly.

"What's wrong?" Hermione murmured, worried that she'd unknowingly hurt or offended Snape. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Snape replied, raising his gaze to meet hers. "But–I can't go through with this unless I'm absolutely certain it's what you want."

"It is what I want," she responded, slowly undoing the last buttons where he had left off. "Please, don't deny me this." Snape helped her slip the blouse off, and it fell unceremoniously to the floor. Hermione's slacks and his trousers met the same fate. Snape shifted his weight so that Hermione lay under him, while he supported himself on either side of her. Then slowly, hesitantly, he clumsily unclasped her bra and slipped it off.

It was then that he had his first real misgivings. It wasn't that he didn't want to do this, his arousal was quite apparent. But it had been so long. He must have been about Hermione's age, the last time he had made love to a woman. The wars and the years of spying in between had left no room for any extra relationships; and even if he had found the right woman, he could not bring himself to commit, fearing that the Dark Lord or his minions would take their anger out on her.

Snape could not have known, but Hermione was having the same thoughts. It had been over eight years since she and Ron had last slept together (she couldn't even call it making love), and she feared that she'd be even worse at it now than she had been then. This was not something one could learn from a book, and her experience in it was woefully inadequate. Any thought of insufficiency, however, was banished when Hermione happened to glance downward, spying Snape's obvious arousal. The sight of his tented undergarments caused her to gasp, not because of the implications of what she was doing, but because she, herself, had caused such a reaction in a man.

Before Snape could react, thinking that her gasp was a sign of dismissal, Hermione arched forward and kissed him roughly. This time it was his turn to gasp, seeing the sudden, determined light in Hermione's eyes. He knew her well enough that there was no arguing with her when she got that look, and thus when she hooked her fingers under the elastic of his undergarments and tugged, he reciprocated until both were as naked as the day they were born.

Snape looked questioningly at Hermione, and she nodded vigorously. "Just do it,"she whispered, her voice husky. It was now or never. Snape took a breath, lowered himself, and thrust into her.

Hermione shrieked, a mixture of both pain and pleasure. Hermione was now panting heavily, rocking her hips back and forth as she pulled Snape closer. Moaning, Snape pulled out then rapidly thrust back into her. As he continued, his thrusts grew more and more frantic. Hermione's nails dug into his back as she cried out, losing all self-control and then coming, screaming his name.

Severus. His given name had never sounded so good to him before. At that moment, everything from the past few days came flooding back to him. His marriage to Hermione. Their decision to live together, to try to make it work. Their making love. The fact that he could please the likes of her. It was too much to handle, he could feel himself rapidly spinning out of control, and finally the waves of pleasure as he came. With a grunt, he collapsed into Hermione's arms.

"Mmm," Hermione murmured with a tired, content smile, curling up in Snape's arms, "I love you." Her eyes flickered shut, and within a few moments she was breathing deeply, asleep. Snape, however, could not sleep so easily.

Love? Had she really said love? The rational part of his brain told him that he had misunderstood her, but that nagging little voice in the back of his head was arguing quite persuasively that she had said it. A wave of guilt washed over him as he glanced down at the sleeping Hermione.

Despite his arguments against it, he had enjoyed himself. He could only hope that Hermione would feel the same upon waking.

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Author's Note: I would also like to apologize for the excessive amount of wangsting in the last two chapters. This is not an angsty drama. The humor should be back in place (hopefully!) by next chapter.

As for the smut, well, I'll have to work on that.