Flavor to Taste and Enjoy!

A/N - Here it is, the last installment in my ridiculously PWP little bit of smutty nothingness. Enjoy! BTW, yes, I know the chapter titles are awful puns. They're supposed to be.

^_^

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

Part Three – Flavor to Taste and Enjoy!

Severus Snape paced the small room underneath the house at Spinner's End. This lab had been his sanctuary as a child and student – somewhere he came to read and study and escape the torturous hollering and hitting marking every day with his parents – but now it felt like a cage. Worse than that... an aquarium. At least in a cage, he'd feel able to breathe freely. At least in a cage, there was openness and he wouldn't feel he was gulping at the air like a deranged guppy. Something sharp in the back of his throat was causing a sick, greasy nausea in the base of his belly. He paced the room more times than he wanted to count, trying not to look at the girl sprawled across the cot near the door. He'd slept on that cot himself many times, while working on a potion he didn't want to leave or, as a young boy, when trying to escape into a different world. Now she lay there, recovering from a curse he'd imposed upon her himself. He was sick with the thought. It didn't matter that he'd be forced to curse her, that he hadn't even done it of his own free will. He had put her in her current state. He felt even sicker at the jump of his pulse, the excitement that zapped through his body at the memory of how they had cured that state, temporarily. Snape paced a little faster.

After what could have been a few hours – he hadn't really paid attention during his musings – the girl began to move fitfully under the thin sheet and began moaning. Severus made his way to her side quickly, kneeled near the head of the bed, and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. Her temperature was slightly elevated, but not dangerous. The long, thin fingers pressed against her wrist to feel for her pulse; again, it was slightly elevated but still well within a normal range. But a flush was creeping across her face and vanishing down the line of her throat and under the scooped neckline of her shirt. A thin sheen of sweat had begun to bead on her brow and, with a hitch in his throat that he swore at himself for acknowledging, he noticed that her nipples were standing out, peaked and prominent against the thin, blue cotton covering her chest. He put his hand on her forehead again and checked his watch. Her temperature didn't indicate the distress that should have accompanied a reaction like this from the curse. Furthermore, it was far too soon after her dosage for her to be suffering from curse symptoms again; he had dosed her at nine-thirty, and it was only two forty-five. The dosage he'd given her should last at least until ten, perhaps longer. But she was clearly suffering.... Snape growled as he crossed the room and glared at the cauldron that he'd left covered on his work table. Severus Snape did not enjoy being puzzled like this. He knew the situation, knew the solution (however temporary it might be); he did not care for circumstances when his knowledge and his instincts did not match up.

Scowling, he lifted the lid and peered into the cauldron. There was just enough left for one more dosage, and he'd hoped not to have to use it again this soon. But what other choice did he have? If she was suffering again, she had to be dosed. He couldn't risk having her wake in the direst throes of it and try, instinctively, to seek him out for a more permanent remedy to her symptoms. Severus hated to admit weakness, especially one he'd been able to control completely for nearly two decades, but after the race of electricity and thrill he'd succumbed to with her that evening, he wasn't sure his resolve would hold out if she sought him in full force. He growled loudly and scraped the bottom of the cauldron with his ladle, spooning it carefully into the tall glass he'd left nearby. He would pour as much as he had of it, gallons of it if necessary, down her throat, if only to save himself from her.

*****

Hermione was having a lovely dream. She stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower, feeling the crisp winter air against her body as she gazed out over the ground. The snow lay in a thick blanket over the entirety of what she could see, frosting everything from grass and rocks to trees and the far off houses of Hogsmeade Village just visible in the distance. She knew that she should feel cold, but there was no chill on her. She was warm, pleasantly so, and rested. Content. Hermione smiled at the sights laid out before her, quiet and merry. A light wind rose up and caressed her face, not a biting sting but a gentle move, almost as if the breeze was licking her. Her smile grew, but this time because she knew that she was being watched. She could feel the eyes on her back and knew that the wizard they belonged to was not as content as she. For reasons she couldn't articulate, this made her smile more. He came to her ... she had known he would ... and she wasn't surprised when long arms wrapped underneath her arms to tangle around her body, pressing her back into a strong, deep chest and warm, lean muscled thighs. She smiled at the heat behind her bum. For all the advantageous position he held, she was in control and he was not.

The hands began to move, and she let her eyes drop closed as she enjoyed the play of them across her body. Slim fingers moved lightly at first, tracing the lines of her hip and stomach, curving along the dips and sways of her breasts, all fleeting, gentle touches that made her sigh in appreciation. On their second pass, the fingers snagged on her hardened nipples, and she twitched. She could nearly see the smirk that passed over the face buried in the curls at her neck. He bit down lightly, and the fingers traveled over her nipples again, this time making her cry out. With barely any time to recover from this, his hands slithered down her body and under the waistband of her denims. She had to lean forward and brace herself against the cold stone of the ramparts as the fingers, cold from the breeze, slipped under cotton to tease at her flesh. Hermione writhed underneath the single sheet covering her body as the dream splayed out behind her eyes. Her lips dropped open as the girl who was Hermione inside her head bucked against the relentlessly pleasing hands belonging to a wizard she couldn't see. Her lips curled up, both in the dream and on the girl on the cot. The girl on the ramparts reached down and drew the hand from between her legs, pulled it up to suck at the warmth on his fingers. The body behind her hitched and she felt her lips drop open. The hand between her legs and the hand that had been at her mouth evaporated into red liquid that trickled down her throat. Her body suddenly shuddered in a shock of cold and then smoothed again with lazy heat. Her head felt heavy, so she turned towards where he had come from – where he no longer was – and leaned back against the stone ramparts. Sleep. She would sleep for just a little while, to rid herself of that longing.

*****

Hermione woke to a rushing sound of wind above her head. Scrubbing the sleep from her eyes with the back of her hand, she pushed herself to her feet. She stared out again over the snow-crested hill from the top of the Astronomy Tower. How careless, to fall asleep here in the cold! She could have died from exposure! She prodded her limbs, checking for numbness or a blue cast to her skin, and concluded that, no, she seemed fine after all. Perhaps she hadn't been asleep long. Or perhaps it was simply that Hogwarts' magic was protecting her, somehow. And then Hermione remembered the sound of wind and looked up. He was hovering just above and over the side of the ramparts, smirking down at her from the back of a long, light colored broomstick. It had been polished so smooth, it looked nearly the same pale color as his skin. She smiled up at him, unaccountably cheered as she watched his rippling dark robes billow and snap in the wind. His hawk-like face melting from the smirk into a kinder smile, he reached out a hand to her. Panic zoomed through her, leaving her knees feeling watery and weak. She couldn't possibly! Not only was his broom hovering far from the top of the ramparts, leaving her liable to fall should she reach for him, the simple act of flying terrified her! Not at all talented at things that couldn't be learned between bound covers, Hermione found herself strangely afraid of both the flyer and the flying. He merely leaned further, offering his hand closer to her. And for reasons she couldn't understand, that simple gesture made her emotions turn within her. Hermione stepped forward, put her small, warm hand in his long, cool fingers and felt a zing of excitement when he tugged her up with him. For one moment that should have been horrifying, she felt herself dangling over the gaping air beyond the ramparts, and then she was there, on the sturdy handle of the broom he gripped between his legs, being pulled back against his warm body where his billowing robes could fold around her too. And then he shot off like a firecracker.

What started as a scream tore from Hermione's throat and became a shout of mirth. An arm tightened around her waist and pulled her closer into his body. His voice, a low rumble, whispered scandalous words into her ear that made her blush and whoop and throw her arms out to catch the breeze. This was fun! She'd never had fun on a broom before. She'd always been terrified and half sick, even with Harry's tender guidance, but here she laughed and greeted that whizzing breeze happily. And when his lips grazed the skin behind her ear, she had to grasp the broom handle with both hands, so quickly did her head start to spin with arousal and lust. Hermione started for a moment at the feel of the broomstick beneath her fingers. The handle she gripped was warm and silky and pulsed slightly at her touch, like skin. Staring down at it, she barely believed that her eyes confirmed what her hands had felt: it wasn't a broom at all! The thing beneath her fingers was ... was ...! Hermione whipped around, risking a fall, to look at the man behind her. Something in his face changed now when she looked at him. The eyes and smile were no longer kind and gentle, but glittering and eager, lit with that same fiery tumult she felt deep in her belly. And he groaned loudly when she clenched her knees together around that warm, hard thing keeping her aloft. His supporting arm pushed against her, grinding the core of her body harder against the shaft between her legs, and she moaned too, feeling a streak of electricity jolt through her body. When he leaned forward to take her lips, the two began to tumble towards the ground, but she found that she welcomed the fall. She gripped the shaft beneath harder, pressed harder against it. Against him. Just before impact with the snow drifts, he wrenched her around, driving into her as a cry of pleasure tore from her lips.

*****

Hermione shuddered as she hit the ground and for one wild moment where all she could see was the tangle of white cotton sheet around her, she was convinced that she was still there in the snow, waiting for more thrusts from the warm body above her. Then, reality slammed into her with the impact of her bum against the cold flagstone floor of the basement Potions lab, and Hermione blinked around at the room. A blush painted her cheek as she found herself slightly sad that this was the reality and not the heady excitement of the dream. But after only a moment, she noticed the determined circling of her Potions professor, restlessly pacing the room as he had the night before. And that same slash of physical thrill she had experienced in her dream shook her muscles. She bit her lip to tamp it down and struggled to her feet.

Untangling the sheet from her body and replacing it neatly on the bed, Hermione took a few minutes to take long deep breaths before she spoke. "What time is it? How long have I been asleep?"

He stopped pacing nearly at once and faced her, his eyes planted on her forehead. His face was as granite-strong as she'd ever seen it, but something raced behind his eyes. "You have slept for approximately eighteen hours. It is nearly four in the afternoon," he said, much smoother than she had expected.

"Eighteen hours!" Hermione exclaimed. "Four o'clock! How could I have slept so long? I haven't slept that long in my entire life! Well, except for the time that I was petrified by the basilisk, but I hardly think that counts as a normal circumstance. Though, come to that, this really isn't a normal circ..."

"For Merlin's sake, Granger!" Snape snapped. "Must you start prattling the instant you regain consciousness?"

Hermione felt stung by the harshness, but bit her lip again and scowled at him, trying to keep tears out of her eyes.

"You slept that long," Snape said, his voice even again, "because the potion has a sedative in it. For obvious reasons."

This time, when Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek, it was in puzzlement. "But sir, the dose I was given should only have lasted for about twelve hours. I'm not so susceptible to sedatives that it should have knocked me out for an extra six or seven."

Snape grimaced, and Hermione could see a tic in the muscles of his right cheek. "I had to dose you a second time in the early morning hours," he said. His voice was even more clipped than usual.

"Ah," Hermione responded. "That was the last of the potion, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," he said.

"So we'll have to make it again, won't we?"

"Yes."

Oooh, very clipped. He's unsettled some. "Well, we'd best get started, hadn't we? Don't want to take the chance that I'll be so far gone by the time we finish that I won't be able to hold the glass again like last time."

Snape resumed pacing. It seemed he didn't want to be reminded of last time.

"I've already prepared the beginning stages," he said, gesturing curtly to the lab table where, indeed, a medium-sized cauldron already simmered over a low flame and a cutting board lay covered with tidy piles of ingredients waiting to be prepared.

When he made no move to take up the tasks awaiting them, Hermione crossed the room and dared to place a hand on his arm. "Straight to it, then?"

He nodded stiffly and pulled away from her to move back towards the work table. They worked in silence, but for a few short instructions or requests from one to the other. Once Hermione started recognizing the steps as those they had done the previous evening – meaning they were getting closer to the 'final ingredient' – she felt her throat tighten and that familiar exhilaration begin to scamper through her muscles. She started to feel shaky and weak, but she knew instinctively that it was not from the curse. No. It was from him. And that sparked something in her mind.

"Sir?"

"Hmm?" he murmured as he bent over the cauldron, examining the other solutions he had added to the Amortensia base.

"You said you had to dose me during the night?"

He straightened almost immediately, but kept working. He grunted slightly, which she took as an affirmative. Hermione set down her chopping knife, and with a great breath for courage, she began to inch behind him.

"Why? The dosage you gave me should have lasted nearly half-way through the morning before I even regained consciousness, let alone started feeling symptoms again, according to what you told me last night."

"You..." He cleared his throat and stiffened when he could feel the heat of her at his back. "...you seemed to be suffering from symptoms again. Sweating, twitching ... moaning. I felt it only prudent to dose you again."

His left hand wasn't entirely sturdy as it picked up the long-handled glass stirring spoon and began to move it through the potion. She was pressing against him just lightly now; she must have realized he was preparing for the final stage. His knuckles tightened as he stirred. He wasn't sure how he'd get through this and remain calm enough to think clearly. When her arms came around him and the small fingers reached up to his throat and began unbuttoning his robes, he gasped – and swore roundly for doing so. He didn't stop her, but he certainly wasn't relaxing into the process. Though her stomach fluttered in nervousness, desire and arousal swamped her as her fingers flew along the long line of buttons. Having lost the support of the buttons all the way to his waist, the heavy robes slipped from Severus's shoulders and, with a quick switch of stirring hands to release them from his arms, they pooled at his feet; wordlessly, Snape stepped out of them and kicked them away under the table. Feeling emboldened by his silent consent of her actions, Hermione flattened herself against his back and licensed her hands to roam across his chest.

"I wasn't suffering, sir," she said, vaguely surprised at how gravelly her voice sounded.

"What?" Snape's spine snapped straight, and his voice was as sharp as a sleigh runner. "What do you mean?"

Not to be deterred, Hermione reached up to release the buttons at his throat, leaving his shirt hanging open at the neck. "I wasn't suffering, sir. It wasn't the curse." Her hands skimmed down his chest again, but unlike the previous night, they did not pause to smooth his ruffled nerves; no, she moved both palms to the growing heat between his legs. He grunted gruffly as her fingers wound around the tented rising at the front of his pants. The rhythm of his stirring faltered for more than a moment before he resumed an easy pattern. "I wasn't suffering from the curse. I was having a dream, Professor." She began stroking his erection with one hand, working his belt open with the other.

"A-ah," he gasped as she raked her nails along the wool-covered length of him. "A dream?"

She nodded against his back and then, feeling daring, knowing he was nearly at her mercy, she dropped her hand from his belt and pushed back on his upper chest, causing him to bend backwards towards her. Placing her lips into the lank strands of his dark hair, she whispered into his ear, "About you, Professor." With a smirk, she let go of his chest, letting him rocket forward suddenly, where he had to bend over the table again, nearly losing his motion in the cauldron all together.

Her hand flew along the outline of his erection as she curled around his bowed back. "Oh yes, sir, I was having a dream about you. We were standing on top of the Astronomy Tower, and you were doing all the wonderful, scandalous things to me that I was doing to you last night. And it felt amazing. You must have seen me reacting to that dream, sir."

Snape was panting as he hunched over, just barely reining in his temper and instincts enough to keep stirring the potion.

"I wanted you so much, Professor. I still do."

He moaned and clamped his hand over hers as she clutched him. "More," he growled.

"Can I watch, sir?"

He barely registered her words, just her hands. "What?" he asked. His mind was foggy with sensation. Stirring and breathing ... all he was capable of. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'Can I watch, sir?'" Hermione felt nearly crazy with it, now. The curse had kicked in, but it seemed only the fuel to the flame, not the flame itself, now as the inferno raged in her body. Her breasts ached as she pressed them against his back, that thrumming center of her thighs screamed for attention. For his attention.

"I want to watch your body, your face, as I get that last ingredient. Can I watch, sir?" She timed her request with a tighter squeeze along the shaft of his penis. He groaned, his breath coming ragged and fast as she flicked her fingers across his testicles.

"Stop, stop!" he snapped. Snape stood and whirled to face her. His eyes were wild and fiery, his free hand clenching on the table top behind him as he stared down at her.

Startled, Hermione backed away a step or two. He was going to push her away now, tell her that she'd gone too far, that he'd get the ingredient on his own. But he didn't. He thrust the spoon towards her (which she took quickly and resumed his stirring), which was apparently only so that he could use both of his hands to loosen his belt and release all the front buttons of his trousers. He leaned back against the table and resumed the stirring of the cauldron, leaving the front of his trousers hanging open so that she could see the translucent linen of his undershorts and just a hint of the dark hair and pale skin beneath. She couldn't draw her eyes away from the tiny portion of the trail of dark hair that pointed down his stomach, peeking out from under the hem of his shirt and disappearing into his undershorts. Wrenching her gaze away from his groin, Hermione raised her eyes to lock onto the heat striking her from the black eyes of her Potions professor.

Spreading his free arm in a wide gesture of surrender, he smirked down at her. "If you want to see my body, if that is what you desire, take up your hands and bare it to your purpose. If you have the courage."

Her lips quirked up in a smirk mirroring his. Did he expect her to balk at that feeble challenge when she had requested in the first place? Or did he expect her to accept? Either way, she strode forward and laid hands that only trembled slightly against his abdomen. Her legs straddled his knees, and she set her fingers to work unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom up towards his throat. Laughter nearly left her at the look of surprise quickly smothered on his face. He had invited her to bare his body and she took him at his word. When his shirt was open, she trailed her hands down his chest and noticed with a grimace that they had begun to shake.

Snape seemed to have noticed too. "The curse?" he asked quietly.

She just nodded, her fingers playing with the waistband of his undergarments.

He sighed and stood. "Then perhaps we should be quick about this," he said.

"No." Hermione's voice was quiet but firm. "I was worse off than this yesterday and I made it through just fine. I want to ... I want to take my time today. Enjoy it."

A gruff exhalation escaped him at her last phrase, and he leaned back against the table again. She had no idea how he could keep calmly stirring the potion when she unbuttoned the last vestiges of clothing separating his penis from her hands, but somehow he managed it. He didn't manage to stifle his moan of pleasure, though, as her hands pushed the fabric of his pants and trousers away from his slim hips and wrapped her fingers around his long, serpentine erection. She had expected him to close his eyes, to drown in the sensation as she stroked him – that's what she would have done had roles been reversed – but no, he watched her with those bottomless black eyes. Intense, heated caresses of his eyes as she gripped his penis and stroked with one hand, let her fingers dance through the fine dusting of hair on his chest with the other. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as she stared down at the working of her hand over his length. Her fingers looked so small wrapped around the pinkish skin, so much more flushed with life than the rest of his body. Unable to stop herself, both from curse and instinct, Hermione leaned in and laid her lips to his chest. Letting her tongue dart out, she sampled the taste of his skin and smiled as he drew breath sharply beneath her lips. When his left hand came up from the table to fist in her tumble of curls, she tightened her grip around him and stroked faster.

The hand at her hair slipped downwards until she felt the slim digits cup and squeeze her breast. She moaned against his chest and bit down quickly, a fleeting glance of teeth across his nipple. In response, his fingers tugged on the peaked rising of her own nipple. Pressed against him from lips to knees, Hermione ground the core of her against his hip, trying to relieve that wonderful, horrible aching pressure building up between her legs. If she didn't feel some relief, she felt as if she'd shatter long before the potion was ready. But she needn't have worried; the elegant hand moved again, this time to pluck apart the fastening of her jeans and slither under the waistband and into her knickers, just as it had in her dream. His hand had moved so quickly, she'd barely had time to register what he was doing until his purpose was already in progress. Hermione cried out loudly as she felt his cool fingers slip into her humid flesh. Emitting noises partly of triumph and partly pleasure, Hermione's voice mingled with gasps and groans snaking from the lips of her professor as he stroked at her clitoris, making her writhe against him in ecstasy, in agony. Without preamble or warning, his lips descended upon hers, swallowing her whimpers of desperation and pleasure. Hermione drank hungrily of his lips, thrusting her tongue into his mouth the instant he parted his lips, letting the thrust-retreat of the slippery muscle match the strokes of her hand along him. She gulped down his hot breath on a moan, bucking against his fingers, feeling a tiny trickle of moisture along her own fingers as she plied them against his erection.

Severus suddenly, stupidly, wished he'd been born with at least five more hands. Her fingers raced over him, curled around his erection, scratching his chest as she bucked against his fingers, moaning and whimpering into his mouth. He wanted to touch her everywhere his fingers could reach, just to pull more of those inarticulate, desperate noises from her. They landed on his ears soft like snow on cotton but sought his nerves and shook hard. The hand not tightening around his penis clutched at his shoulder as she began to shudder around his fingers. His callused thumb plied harder against that thrumming center of her passion, and he pressed two thin digits into her tight, wet heat. Suddenly, she clasped a fistful of his hair and cried out, her knees buckling as she climaxed. Her grip on his erection had become almost painful, her hand in his hair bruising, but he didn't care. He drew his hand out from her center and let the wet tips of his fingers dart under her shirt to circle her nipple. She shivered.

"Do you want me, Granger?" he spoke, a husky whisper.

She could only nod.

"All of me?"

A desperate squeak of voice slipped from her lips.

He seemed to understand. "Because of the curse or because of me?"

She bit the inside of her cheek as his still-damp fingers drew little swirls around her breast. He tugged on the soft skin, pulling an answer from her. "Both," she said breathlessly. "I think I wanted this long ago, but I didn't think I should."

"You think you wanted this?" he asked. "Or you know?"

"I know it," she said and blushed deeply. "Sir."

The way she had said that honorific, that sensual, desperate caress, coupled with the searing heat behind her eyes confirmed her words. This was not the first time she'd desired him. And that thought did more to charge his lust than even the hand she still had loosely encircling his erection. He drew his hand from her breast and angled her chin up to meet his steely glare.

"So your blood has warmed for the cold bat of the dungeons before, then?" His smirk was epic, as was her blush as she nodded. "And you are certain that you want all of me? No silly Gryffindor games of catch and release?"

She shook her head and lowered her eyes.

"Tell me what you want then," he said, leaning over and letting the words fall, hot and wet, on the shell of her ear.

"I want you to take me," she admitted shyly. Then, her cheeks coloring even deeper, she shivered and said, "Sir."

He chuckled just a little bit, hearing in her words what she hadn't said as much as what she had. "You enjoy that, don't you? Asking me for such favors and calling me sir?"

She nodded, still staring at his navel. His hand, quick as lightning, fisted in the back of her hair and wrenched up her head so she stared into those deep, dark eyes.

"Be sure," he growled out, hungry and commanding.

"I'm sure," she said and lunged up to meet his lips.

Thrusting his tongue into her mouth, Severus wrapped both arms around her middle and hoisted Hermione off the ground. The moment the stirring rod dropped idle – clanging against the side of the cauldron from the loss of Snape's ceaselessly moving hand – the sparkling red brew began to bubble and froth angrily. With a horrified gasp, she wrenched her lips away from his as he turned to deposit her on atop the work table.

"But, sir!" she cried. "The potion!"

"To hell with the potion," he rumbled low in his throat. "You won't need it."

And with that, he fisted a hand back in her hair and pulled her head back to meet his own. Their tongues chased each other heatedly, hands pawing at clothing as the slippery muscles battled within Hermione's mouth. Severus's long fingers made swift work heaving her shirt over her head, and in an uncoordinated attempt to both shuck the garment from her arm and still pepper his neck with heated kisses, a jerk of her hand set the cauldron next to them tumbling to the ground, spattering the cold stone with the potion. Neither paid much heed, but for the slight hiss of cold when tiny red drops hit Hermione's flushed skin. A wave of his hand and the drops were gone. Hermione's legs seemed to be acting of their own will as they wrapped around Severus's waist, digging her heels into the small of his back to draw him closer. She leaned back on her hands and moaned as his mouth stroked down her chest, dipping into the valley between her breasts, his tongue chasing the line of her plain white brassiere. Gasping, Hermione lifted her hips so that the centre of her body pressed against his chest; restraining hands brought her back down to the table, but she couldn't help the undulations of her hips as his mouth covered her skin. Struck by a strange urge, she opened her eyes and watched him. So bizarre and surrealistic, the sight of her professor's lips bent around her cotton-covered breast, then peeling back so he could let his tongue trail a line down the centre of her body. She knew where he was headed, and it made her blood sing and her breathing race.

The dark eyes flew up to hers then, locked onto her gaze, and gave her a look that should have scorched her to pieces. With a smirk, he traced his tongue along the open waistline of her denims, just skirting around where her knickers rested. She moved impatiently and he chuckled. He obliged her and set his hands to pulling at her denims, but she had the strong impression that it was only because the curse was starting to ripple through her. Wriggling in an uncoordinated effort to help him, Hermione managed to free herself of her jeans and kick them to the floor. A yelp of surprise escaped her lips when his whole mouth clamped suddenly over the apex of her thighs, dampening the already moist cotton covering her. She squirmed, trying to direct his lips and move her knickers, but he gripped forceful hands on the tops of her thighs and held her still, sucking at the fabric of her knickers until she could feel the slick movements of his tongue chafing the material across the center of her body.

"God," she mumbled. "Shit! Merlin! Fuck, please, please...!" It was all just a stream of meaningless noise at the end when her pleading dissolved into frustrated whimpering. He chuckled against her, his breath cooling the fabric on her heated skin, which just made her cry out more.

"Soon enough," he said, a silky laugh on his breath. "Soon enough."

"Please, Professor," she said, writhed against his restraining hands. "I can't take it anymore. The curse, it's too much ..."

And the note of desperation that had touched her voice made him abandon the teasing and yank aside her knickers, plunging his tongue into her body. A wild cry tore from her throat, heavy with triumph, and she began to rock her hips against the movements of his thrusting tongue. Pants escaped her, loud and ragged, as she ground against his face.

"I thought you said..." She stopped to moan. "...that it was only...ah!...sex that would lift...oh, God...the charm completely."

His thumb came up to stroke against her clitoris and her legs twitched and shook. "It is," he answered against her skin.

"Then why...unh!... why are you taking the time to do this, when we could have just gotten straight to it?"

Snape glanced up from between Hermione's thighs and fixed her gaze with a penetrating look, keen as a knife-blade. "Because I have been dying to taste you," he said, his lips quirking up in a tiny smile. Then he extended his tongue and, his eyes never leaving hers, laved a long lick all the way from her opening to the tip of her clitoris.

But it was the concentrated heat and pure desire in his eyes that lanced her climax through her. Hermione's arm muscles trembled and buckled, dropping her flat on her back against the tabletop as she tried to relax her quivering muscles. Her thighs wavered and chilled as she dully registered her professor moving away from her momentarily, but she couldn't seem to force her body to move to correct the fact. The heat of his body returned quickly, though, and this time it radiated directly from his bare skin onto hers as he leaned over her. Quaking muscles or not, Hermione curled all her limbs around the naked torso of her smirking professor as he bore down on her. She squeaked, feeling the silky skin of his erection press against her upper thigh. A muttered incantation and the table dropped a few inches to situate just below his waist. He smirked. A hand brushed against her core as he grasped his erection; the blunt end of his penis stroked against her wetness but didn't enter her. She moaned.

"Say it, Granger," he growled, his voice low and husky as he bent to her ear. "Beg me."

A long, keening wail escaped her as he pressed just the tip of himself inside her. He bent and took a nipple into his mouth. She wriggled and tried to push herself down onto him, but his weight held her in place.

"Beg me to fuck you right here. Right now." His tongue darted out and traced a path around the shell of her ear. Another scant half inch of him pressed into her. "I know you're aching to say it. Beg me. And don't forget to be polite."

She bit her lip to stifle a moan momentarily but then cupped her hands around his face to push him back so she could look into his eyes. Fixing her most innocent and open look on her face, Hermione said, "Please, Professor Snape, please I'm just dying to feel you inside me. I'm running mad with how much I want you." He bit his lip, his face taut, and made to comply, but she put her hand on his chest and held him back. Fighting a smirk, she knew she wanted to taunt him just as he had her, and if playing the naïve but naughty student heated his blood the way it did hers, she'd make him squirm with it. "Sir," she whimpered, caressing the word with her whole mouth. "Sir, won't you please put your cock in me? I'm begging you, Professor ... please fuck me."

Something seemed to crack in his face, though it was set into hard lines, and with a single forceful thrust, Snape buried himself in Hermione's hot, wet and shaking body. Though the feeling of contact and fullness zinged through her, she couldn't fight a wince at the sharp tearing sensation as he broke through her hymen and her body screamed at this first intrusion. The noise that left her throat was one of startled pain, not the previous husky arousal.

Snape snapped up at a higher angle to look down at her and, before she could turn her head to hide the expression, caught the tight discomfort and single line of tears snaking down from her eye. "Oh, Merlin," he whispered. "This is not your first...?"

Trapped, Hermione met his eyes, her face red with embarrassment, and nodded. He swore roundly, using words she'd only ever heard out of the roughest sorts of people, but made no move to draw back from her.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered quietly, the tears starting to run down her cheek again. "I-I didn't think you'd mind..."

"Mind?" he practically shouted. "It's not me who should mind! You ... you should have told me ... You shouldn't have let me take something so .... Not a professor and certainly not me. You shouldn't have let me take something so...."

"So...?" she prompted when he didn't finish.

"Precious."

After a long silence, she said, "I wanted you to have it. I always have. I just thought that if I told you, you wouldn't have taken it."

"Well, of course I damned well wouldn't have!" he roared.

"Exactly," she said, but she was smiling. "I want you to have it," she said again. When he just scoffed, she experimentally clenched her inner muscles around his erection, causing him to groan and droop forward against her.

"If you expect me to have any control whatsoever, for the love of God don't do that again."

She laughed. And did it again. His moan was loud this time, and she heard his knees bang against the table.

"Is there any pain?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not anymore." Then, a smirk stole across her face. "Do I have to beg you to finish what you started?"

"Impugning my honor, Granger?" Snape said, his voice husky. He began to pant a little as she rocked her hips against him. "Respect, Miss Granger. Respect for your professor."

Smiling, she said sweetly, "Please, Professor Snape?"

He drew out and thrust into her deeply. "Again."

"Please, sir."

Another sharp thrust. A long moan, a deep growl. "Louder!"

"Harder, Professor," Hermione pleaded. "Please, sir!"

His hips flexed underneath the long legs she wrapped around his waist as he began to thrust against her faster, harder. Placing his hands on the tabletop on either side of her head for balance, he tilted his hips every time he jolted deep within her belly, his erection striking that place within her that caused her to writhe and whimper and exhale her breath on a long, low groan.

"Yes...God!" Hermione barely recognized her own voice. It didn't matter, as long as he kept pushing into her.

"Yes...fuck, yes!" Severus's low, smooth tones were more ragged than he'd heard himself in decades; such was the effect she was having on him. He couldn't restrain the wild gyration of his hips as he plunged again and again.

Hermione's body was shivering. Throwing her head back, she arched off the table, tilting her hips downward so he would strike harder against that wonderfully thrumming spot deep within her. A fine layer of sweat coated her body and caused him to slip a bit as he thrust, the slick sliding of the centers of both of their bodies pleasantly sticky. Feeling a signaling tingle building within her belly, Hermione reached up and clutched at her Professor's hair, dragging his head down to meet hers and taking a fierce kiss from him as her body shattered into pleasure. When her mind became clear again, she noticed that his thrusts were lightning quick and erratic, and it only took a last clenching of her inner muscles to send him after her into climax, slumping over her as the uneven jerking of his hips quieted.

It seemed like years, ages perhaps, for both of them to regain a semblance of working intelligence and clarity. Eventually he lifted himself up again to look down at her, a lazy smile touching her lips and her hands skimming across her breasts idly. He didn't speak, but she neither expected nor needed words. After what was most likely only a few minutes, his lips began trailing a path across her shoulders and collarbone before starting to wander down towards her breasts. At first, her voice was a contented, indulgent hum of pleasure, but then she gasped in shock when she felt her heart start to race and her muscles to shake again.

"Um, sir?" she asked quietly. He made no response, just sucked on the swell of the side of her breast. She cleared her throat. "Sir?"

"In a moment," he murmured and went back to his ministrations. Her eyes crossed when he took a nipple into his mouth.

"But, sir..."

"Do shut up, Granger. I'm busy."

Almost as if they had done so without her consent, her hands rose up and wound into his hair, pressing his face closer to her skin. She scowled down at them. Damn things; she'd never think straight if he kept doing that. "Sir, I'm concerned. I'm feeling curse symptoms again."

"Of course you are," he said and moved to her other breast.

Her face heated as she noticed one of his hands move down between their legs. He began stroking his growing erection, his prominent knuckles scraping deliciously at the apex of her thighs with every upstroke.

"But I thought that having sex would..."

At this, he did look up at her, but did not stop the motion of his lower hand. "You didn't think that'd be all there was to it, did you? One quick, simple shag and it's over?"

Hermione scoffed despite herself. "I wouldn't call that a simple shag."

A deep smirk lit his face. "Compared to the rest of my repertoire, I assure you, that was the less inventive end of the program."

Hermione uttered a few of those expletives she'd heard him drop earlier before clearing her throat and trying to ignore the tongue being reapplied to her nipple. "So that's not it, then? The curse isn't over with?"

"Oh, no," he hummed against her skin. "No, the Dark Lord was quite adamant, when inventing this curse, that the effects require a thoroughly scandalous amount of sexual acrobatics." She made an inarticulate gurgling noise in the back of her throat and finally allowed herself to succumb to the feelings he was evoking. He laughed against her. "Now be a good girl and still your tongue."

"Yes, sir. I think I can fight through it, if you can."

*****

Severus Snape leaned back against the leg of the lab table and tried desperately not to move. Even smiling hurt. He'd bruised his right elbow, both knees, strained several fairly sensitive areas of his body and his entire groin was chafed from contact. But had he been able to smile without smarting, he would have plastered his face with such a grin that anyone witnessing it would have thought him under a peculiarly well-executed Confundus Charm. Beside him, Granger lay on the floor, sprawled out like a crime scene victim, mewling like a kitten but smiling gently. Eventually, she giggled to herself.

"What, may I ask, is so funny, Miss Granger?" he said, only a parody of his teacherly scolding tone.

Much to his surprise, she burst out in a riot of laughter. He raised an eyebrow, but this only seemed to send her off in another peal of whooping guffaws. "I just shagged Professor Snape," she said and started cackling like a banshee gone wrong.

He scowled at her. "Am I to understand that you have sustained brain damage from curse effects? Or are you suffering some other form of hysteria I'm not aware of?"

She sat up, wincing as she did so, and faced him, grinning like an idiot. "No, I'm not insane or hysterical," she said levelly, but full of amusement. "It's just wonderfully funny to me."

He scowled even deeper, the familiar set of lines on his face etching once more into their places. "I find it highly offensive that sexual congress with me seems to amuse you so."

Even though she was clearly uncomfortable moving, Hermione wriggled over to him and deposited herself between his spread legs. Despite his annoyance at her levity, he found he quite enjoyed the bounce of her bare breasts as she moved. His frown eased just a bit.

"I'm not laughing at the idea of shagging you," said Hermione. "I'm laughing that I've been wanting to for all this time and this is how it ended up happening." A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "But you know, Professor," she said, suddenly serious. "I'm concerned about what happens if I start suffering from the curse again."

He raised an eyebrow. "Miss Granger, we have been engaging in sexual acts on and off for the last four hours. We've both had no less than seventeen orgasms..."

"Twenty-three," she corrected, smiling.

He continued as if she'd not spoken. "...and performed nearly every position I know..."

"Nearly?" she asked, incredulous. "What else is there?"

"...I highly doubt you are still suffering from curse symptoms, and unless someone reapplied the curse to you, you will not suffer them again in the future."

"Oh, no, sir," she said seriously. "I think I shall. In fact, I'm almost certain that once we both return to Hogwarts, I'll have a relapse. Whatever would I do, sir, if I needed your help again?"

Comprehension slammed into him like a stampeding hippogriff, and he fought not to laugh aloud. Schooling his face into a neutral but somewhat martyred expression, he sleekly answered, "Then I suppose you would be forced to visit me for more relief of a sexual nature."

She nodded, her face carefully dutiful. "Thank you, sir. It's a great comfort to know that you'd sacrifice yourself, should I need more attentions in the future. I'm almost certain I will."

"I live to serve, Miss Granger."

After a moment, her face brightened and she bit her lip, fighting a mischievous smirk. "You know, I've always wondered whether the rumors about you were true."

His eyebrows nearly brushed his hairline. "And what rumors would those be?"

Now Hermione blushed crimson. "Well, I have overheard Pansy and some of the other Slytherin girls..." She stopped to choose her words carefully. "...theorizing about what one of your detentions would be like for a girl who was of age."

His dubious expression melted into a thick smirk. "Is that so?"

She nodded and blushed further. "There was plenty of discussion of spanking ... among other things. I've always pondered the accuracy of those theories." Hermione clutched her lip between her teeth and peered at him from underneath a curtain of hair, trying to gauge his reaction.

Severus leaned over, tracing his tongue along the soft curve of jaw just below her ear. "Perhaps you'll have to cause some mayhem and find out," he purred.

"If you insist, sir," she said fervently.

~~ Fin ~~

A/N – Now that the fic is over, I don't mind posting the stipulations of the challenge. Didn't want to put it first, as I felt people might be hunting for the challenge elements rather than simply enjoying the material. So here is the challenge outline:

We have all read fics that have stressed the importance of maidenhead blood in potions, and that Snape usually is the one to collect it from Hermione. But what about a specific potion that requires a male contribution instead? This challenge asks that you create a story based on the fact that Hermione needs a sample of Severus' semen for a particular potion. At least one chapter of this challenge must be completed by Sept. 15th, 2007. Okay, so I missed the deadline, but who cares?

Thanks to all of you, my readers, and thanks especially to kingpig for creating such a deliciously smut-tastic challenge!

*mwuah!* Love and nakey Snapes to you all!