Bed Time

3: Bed time

Minutes after his orgasm, Snape still hadn't released her hand. And his penis hadn't softened either, although Hermione was certain that this was supposed to happen after a man had had his fun.

On the other hand – this wasn't fun for him, certainly not. His breath had calmed down just a bit; his face still wasn't relaxing at all, his muscles were still hard as stone, his jaw still shut tightly.

Silently, Hermione cast a cleansing charm. Carefully, she tried to get her hand back. Hesitantly, she whispered, "Professor?"

Snape's eyes snapped open, focused, found her face, and widened in shocked comprehension. He looked down, saw his fingers and hers on his...

"Damn!" he cried and snatched his hands away. A deep red flushed his cheeks, and he jumped to his feet, both hands now pulling up his trousers, closing them in a highly embarrassed manner. He took a step, stumbled, and landed on one knee. "Damn, damn, damn. FUCK," he hissed, and Hermione couldn't suppress a relieved smile. How comforting to see the scary, fearful Potions master down on his knees, especially as she was so very confused about what had just happened.

"Get. Out!" he growled, and then he startled her by adding, "Please!"

Getting up herself, she hesitated for a moment. She should go, she really should. She should go and seek out Madam Pomfrey or tell the Headmaster. She should let others take over.

But she couldn't. Although she had believed that she only needed to tell him what was wrong with him and be done with it, she couldn't bring herself to leave. She didn't want to leave. Not yet.

Hadn't he said that he would be insane before sunrise without help? Didn't that imply this wasn't over yet, but would go on for a while? And anyway – how would the matron or even Professor Dumbledore be of any help if all Snape needed was literally a helping hand?

Silently, Hermione stepped behind Snape and put her hand on his shoulder, fully aware of the fact that with this she was committing herself to stay in his rooms as long as necessary.

I will kill the boys, she thought furiously as she felt the Potions master tremble under her touch. At the same time, she was taken aback by the fact that Snape tried to get away from her, but leaned against her at the same moment. Hot, she thought at the touch of his skin. As if he were in a fever. Well, he was, of course. And it was in her powers to help him through the night.

She went down and knelt beside him once more.

He didn't shrug her hand away; instead, he placed his own over hers. Softer, more gentle than before. Hesitantly.

"You need to go," he murmured, but she didn't miss the pleading undertone in his voice. "You have no idea how much danger you are in. I cannot control myself. You can't be here. Go!"

"The way I see it, you have three choices," Hermione said, ignoring his words. "First: you throw me out and – according to your own words – go mad. Second: you allow me to stay, but fight against me. Third: you not only allow me to stay but... but accept that I know what I am doing and that I want to help you." Carefully, her hand whispered over his burning skin. "You said you can't handle this alone – did you lie?"

"No." His face was covered by his hair. "I was given a massive overdose; the result is... dreadful, to say the least."

"So you will allow me to stay?"

He didn't answer, but he neither got up nor did he order her to leave again.

Hermione swallowed. "Will you fight against me? I ought to know – if you fight me, if you make this an embarrassment for the both of us, I will need something to drink, a lot actually as I can't stand the thought that I have to force you into something you don't want, however much you might need it. And I don't want to get drunk. I get all whiny when I've had too much alcohol. So – will you fight me?"

"I... how... why would you want to stay here?" Slowly Snape worked himself up to his feet, never letting go of the girl's hand. He turned and looked her up and down, arching his eyebrows. His confusion was very obvious. "This is not your call," he said quietly, but couldn't take his eyes off her gently moving chest.

"Well, I guess I could go and drag Ron or Harry down here," she said dryly, and Snape involuntarily took a step away from her. Well, she had to admit the thought was disgusting to her as well – she didn't want anyone else down here and certainly not the boys.

Hermione smiled wearily and continued, "And as you clearly can't go to the Headmaster, to Madam Pomfrey, to anyone, really, I don't see who else could be of any useful assistance to you."

Snape's jaw just dropped, and Hermione's smile widened. He obviously hadn't expected her to handle this situation so matter-of-factly.

After a moment of silence, during which she was very aware of his eyes upon her body and face, he asked, "So, Potter and Weasley are behind this?"

Hermione nodded and observed that his skin was of an angry red where her robes had touched him earlier. It seemed that the potion caused skin to react badly to fabric. "Yes, my two absolutely daft best friends have put that potion into your tea," she stated. "But to give them some credit – they thought they had brewed a sickening potion."

"That, of course, changes things entirely," Snape snapped bitterly.

Gently, she reached out and wrapped her slender fingers round his wrist. Under the circumstances, touching him seemed the most natural thing to do. "I found out and came here to help you. I didn't know that it would literally mean a helping hand, but as I have done it once already, I see no reason why I shouldn't do it again until this is over. But I need to know if my help is... welcome."

He flinched at her words, clearly at a loss how he should handle this situation. His Adam's apple moved twice in an attempt to reply. "Welcome or not, I cannot accept your help," he finally pointed out and again tried to move away.

She hindered him by not letting go of his wrist. "I want to help," she insisted. "You need help."

A moment later he came closer again, and his fingertips, as if possessing a will of their own, started tracing one of her delicate eyebrows. "You don't know what that means. You are my student, you..."

The sensation of being touched by him was surprisingly nice, and the longing look in his face made her heart leap. No one had ever looked at her as if she were the answer to all his prayers; not Viktor, not Ron, not Harry. No one – apart from her Potions master.

Who is under the influence of a lust potion, she sternly reminded herself and nearly managed to chase the little butterfly out of her stomach.

She placed her hand on his naked chest. "Even a student has the right to a private life. I chose to be here – after school, after classes. So I'd say, don't look at me as your student but as a... a... well." Deep breath. "A woman who wants to be with you." With those words she shrugged off her robes and revealed plain jeans and a grey sweatshirt, discarding school and books and learning and the words 'teacher' and 'student' to a puddle of garments on the floor.

Snape closed his eyes for a moment, and Hermione could feel him leaning into her touch. And suddenly, a few more butterflies joined the first one that was still happily beating its wings in her belly.

"How old are you, Miss Granger?" Snape asked hoarsely, piercing her with his charcoal black eyes. She could feel his heartbeat under her hand, beating strong and fast.

"I was nineteen three weeks ago. Of age. Free to make my own decisions. And please, for tonight – call me Hermione." She reached out her hand earnestly as if she wanted to seal a contract, but she smiled.

After a long moment, he took her hand in his as if it were a lifeline, thus accepting her offer. His voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper when he said, "I'm very sorry – for everything I will ask you to do tonight. But without you... I'm doomed."

Her heart stopped beating for a second as fear tried to claim her, but she didn't allow it – after all, things couldn't get worse than they already were. And frankly, giving him a hand-job hadn't been that bad. She had never touched a man before, hadn't even kissed Ron properly so far; she had considered the whole business being a lot worse.

Hermione pushed her hair out of her face and then opened the door that led to his bedroom. She took his hand in hers and pulled him on, and he followed, allowed her to take the lead and firmly closed the door behind them.

********************

His bedroom was as dimly lit as his living room, but naturally, Snape would have found the way to his bed even in complete darkness. He forced himself to let go of the girl's hand and collapsed onto the mattress, rolled into a ball and turned his back on her.

This situation is simply a catastrophe, he thought, feeling half-mad with the potion thundering through his veins. I should end this, now, before I do something unforgivable. I must push that stupid girl out of my rooms.... But instead, he became immensely aware of the fabric of his trousers, which caused his overly sensitive skin to burn like fire.

A few movements, a kick of his legs, and he was rid of them. The cool texture of the soft linen sheets was still uncomfortable, but better than the rough wool of his trousers. Each movement felt awful; nevertheless, Snape pushed the duvet to the ground and pulled just the sheet up to his waist. He nearly screamed when he did – where the potion, correctly taken, simply encouraged nakedness, the overdose caused sheer pain when the skin came in contact with anything else but another human being.

Still, there was no need to scare the girl more than absolutely necessary by forcing her to look at his nude frame just now.

The mattress dipped under her weight when she climbed into the bed. After a moment of silence, her whispered words ended a rather awkward moment.

"Shall I... would you like me to touch you?" Hermione asked hesitantly, stunned by her own bravery.

Before she had got into the bed, she had taken one look at him, had observed him getting rid of his trousers, and had taken off her jeans and her shirt as well. Now she was naked, save for her knickers and her undershirt – she rarely wore a bra – as he obviously wouldn't have been able to stand the touch of her clothes. She could still see where her sleeve earlier had left scratches on his skin.

And strangely enough, she didn't feel as bad as she had expected – the last time she had as much as tried to think about sleeping with Ron had been a lot weirder. Not that she was planning to sleep with Snape, of course.

Sitting cross-legged next to him, she looked at his back and waited for his answer – she didn't know the rules of this game or healing process or however one would call this yet. Maybe he had agreed not to fight her, but Hermione knew that this wasn't easy for him. He was a proud man, solitary, and very strict when it came to private matters. This is hell for him, she thought, and not only because the potion affects him in such a highly personal way, but because he is forced to depend on my – a student's – help.

She had to confess that, at the moment, she was slightly scared to be in bed with Snape. Maybe she had day-dreamed about it, but right now she needed reassurance, needed to know if he really wanted this, and if she really was able to do it. Maybe she would be revolted; maybe she couldn't bring herself to do what was necessary.

"I would like to just touch you, to put my hands on your skin, if you don't mind," she murmured.

His whispered answer came after another long moment. "Your touch is balm for me. I feel like I am in purgatory; only the touch of someone else's hand can bring relief. Your hand."

Right then. She reached out and lightly ran her flat hands across his back, causing him to relax instantly. And she was not revolted.

Maybe a bit of talking would make things a little less complicated.

"So this potion – why did you brew it? Who did you hate so much that you came up with such terrible stuff?" Up to his neck, over his shoulders, down to his waist and up again, her hands moved in slow motion. His skin was soft, and his back surprisingly muscular for a man who seemed to spend most of the day in a chair.

Touching him was not only not revolting – it felt good. Hermione's eyes wandered to the sheet that covered his body from hips to toes. How strange to know that she had already touched a part of what was covered by the sheet.

Snape gave a bitter laugh. A moment later, he moved a little closer. "It was a birthday present for Lucius Malfoy. I was so fed up with his moaning that sex with Narcissa lacked a certain sensation, and when she complained one evening that Lucius wasn't... lasting very long, I made this potion. I was sixteen – I considered it romantic, back then. I should have known better." Relaxing further under her touch, he uncurled and rolled over to lie flat on his belly, embracing the pillow so he wouldn't turn and embrace her.

Without thinking, Hermione pushed down the sheet so she could see him uncovered – she heard his sudden intake of breath, caused by her shameless action. But he should have known that she always was curious, even under these unusual circumstances. He shouldn't be surprised that she wanted to learn as much as possible about... well, him. After all, it didn't surprise her that much anymore that in less than an hour her world had turned upside down. She was in bed with Snape and didn't think it odd.

Shoulders, arms, back. A pause. Then, briskly, she allowed her hands to lightly brush over his bum in order to reach his legs and felt him tense.

Ah, she thought. He likes that.

Calves, ankles, thighs, and back to the bum. There she rested her hands for a moment before she went on, up to his shoulders again. Nice arse, she admired silently, not believing that she was actually thinking this.

"And he didn't complain afterwards?" she asked.

"Obviously, if taken in the correct form and dose, it doesn't cause pain but immense pleasure," he murmured, his body humming with desire under her touch and his cock twitching with greed for more attention. "I applied it to Lucius's and Narcissa's tea on a Saturday morning; four drops each. Tasteless, scentless – they never knew what hit them until they landed in bed together. I believe two weeks later he proposed to her." His hands grabbed the pillow tighter, his hips began to move, slowly. He couldn't help it.

Hermione chuckled and moved into a more comfortable position, pulling her legs underneath her. Seeing his movement – Snape's slow, shagging movement – the butterflies in her belly doubled their attempt to get her attention. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she became aware that there was not only a longing in her abdomen, but that she was wet. There was a pulling between her legs, a pulling she had denied earlier, but that – by now – had strengthened, had even become demanding.

It was impossible to ignore the needs of her body. She looked down at Snape and became aware of her hands on him, felt the muscles in his arse move with the movements of his hips.

I usually don't get wet that easily, not even when I'm alone in my bed with certain books, she thought in surprise. How can it be that I simply touch him and want more?

"You must understand... the potion... it is awful when overdosed..." Snape groaned, stopping in mid sentence.

Hermione gulped. It was clear what was wrong. He needed her. Now. She saw him thrusting against the mattress and flushed, clenching the muscles in her vagina to get control of the throbbing down there. What's wrong with me? she wondered once more, and with a swift gesture pressed both her palms on his buttocks and stilled his movement.

In a moment, she would take his cock into her hands again, bring him off once more. Knowing that, she had to close her eyes for a moment – was that really desire that washed through her? Then she took a deep breath and asked, "How long does it take until the effect wears off?"

Merlin, how nice his arse felt. The heat he radiated was delicious.

She saw his hands strangling the pillow and became aware that she was not only simply touching him, but caressing and teasing him. Her hands were kneading his arse, arousing him even more. And he most obviously liked it.

"Twenty-four hours, from the first intake," he rasped. "For me, that means... until shortly after sunrise. I will try to control it, but at the moment... I can't... please!" The last word came strained and urgent in need of release again, in need of her touch. He turned round so she could do once more what he needed her to do, only to go grey with shock at her sight. "You... you are half naked, you stupid girl! Gods, there is no way... You have no idea, you..."

She interrupted him, forcing her eyes to stay focussed on his face. Her hands had moved to his hip bones – with her weight, she held him down. "My clothes were hurting you. I couldn't cause you more pain than you were already suffering. So I just took off my jeans and my shirt. I am not naked!" But she was pale herself – she had interpreted the look in his face very correctly and knew that he certainly was thinking about something else than just having her hand on his cock again.

Butterflies, more butterflies and wetness. Involuntarily, her eyes were drawn to his midst, to his cock, to the erection that jumped out at her. Immediately, panic hit her. That this thing fits inside me is impossible!

But those battering butterfly wings that were now beating between her legs – how lovely they felt. Hadn't she come here to help? Hadn't she – silently, secretly – hoped for something different to happen, something special, something well worth remembering? Hadn't she thought about him, sometimes during classes and mainly whilst working next to him at their projects? Hadn't that been the very reason for giving him a rose on Valentine's Day?

Would she back off now, scared, frightened, although he had warned her, had tried to make her leave?

She drew a deep breath and placed her hand on him once more. Her stomach tightened when her fingers wrapped around his length again.

His eyes were glued to her hand on his cock, then they snapped back to her breasts, covered only by a flannel undershirt. Both his hands lay flat next to his hips; then she pulled back his foreskin, and he gasped and bucked, losing control under her unpractised, but nevertheless delicious manoeuvre.

Hermione expected him to thrust into her fist and wasn't entirely sure if she wanted this or something else. For a brief moment, she visualised herself slipping on top of him... Then he grabbed her and threw her onto her back, was over her frighteningly fast, ripped with one fast, strong hand her knickers away as if they were made out of cobwebs, and was, with one hard thrust, inside her before she could say as much as 'wait'.

It happened quickly, and it happened brutally. All right, she was wet; all right, touching him had aroused her as well. She had, only half earnestly, toyed with the idea of sleeping with him.

But this – it hurt!

"Professor!" she cried out, feeling his cock sliding in and out of her painfully, repeatedly, like a steel pipe, with his weight pinning her down. Desperately, she dug her nails into his shoulders, shocked to the bones that this could have happened from one second to the next.

Shouldn't have taken my jeans off, it screamed inside her head, and she was hitting her fists now into his shoulders in order to push him off.

Useless, of course. He was stronger, heavier, taller than she. He was driven by desire, by the potion – she didn't stand a chance against him.

Suddenly, just as tears welled up in her eyes, he stopped. He was still inside her, but he had stopped moving. She could feel his hot breath on her skin, at her neck, she could feel the damp strands of his hair on her shoulders, and she could feel him tremble with the force to hold back, with the pain to keep still. And when he continued to be just inside her without thrusting in, she opened her eyes.

He stared at her. Shifting his weight only a little bit, he took it off her, leaned on one elbow now and brushed her hair out of her face. His fingers traced the lines the pain had painted round her mouth, touched the corner of her eye and caught a tear.

"I'm hurting you," he whispered, his voice full of sorrow, and she nearly whimpered with relief as surely he would pull back now, would let her go, would...

Slowly he started to move again, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Please, don't," she whispered, scared and pleading, but he didn't stop moving.

Slowly, very slowly he slid out of her. His hand found her breast under the shirt and cupped it easily as his hands were big and her breast small. Gently he massaged it, and this at least felt good, felt wonderful. Not really knowing what she was doing, she used her hands to pull up her shirt, to reveal her breasts so she could feel his naked hand on them.

When he ran his thumb over her nipple she whimpered again, but this time to let him know that he should do that again.

He slid inside her again, in slow motion, as if he weren't mad with the need to come. She expected pain again, and it was there, but this time it was fainter, less persistent.

Out again. His hand on her breast, rolling her nipple into erection; his lips on her throat.

Inside again, deeper this time. He filled her, and she felt her legs spread, although she hadn't ordered them to do so. Oy! she thought furiously. I don't want that, I... oh! Oh, yes!

His breath came in laboured gasps, and she realised how much it cost him not to just continue what he was doing in his desperate need for relief. His moans near her ear unexpectedly heated her own desire again – he wanted her, he needed her, and how could he desire her when she had tried to push him off, when she had screamed, when she had cried? How could he resist just fucking her until he came, no matter how much he might hurt her? Why did he make the effort to give her pleasure as well? Because that was exactly what he was doing, giving her pleasure with his oh-so-slow movements, with his cock that didn't seem to be too big for her anymore but was the perfect size, was fitting perfectly, was...

Gods! she thought, suddenly not fighting against but moving with him, Gods, please, don't stop!

Hermione didn't know what to think anymore. This was overwhelming, him on top of her and inside her. Her legs wrapped round his waist as if they belonged there, and her hands didn't push him off anymore but pulled him closer.

He moved faster now, and in addition to his moans she heard someone else emit small gasps, belatedly realising that it was her.

"Don't stop," she begged, and with her words he came. She could feel it as he spilled deep inside her, shuddered, and lay still.

**********************

Hot tears ran down her cheeks, sobs built up in her chest and demanded to get out. It was her body that was shaking now, and his hands that were caressing her. Holding her tight, he just stroked her hair, her shoulders, her back – gently, carefully, over and over again.

Between her sobs, she wondered why she didn't run from him. Why she instead enjoyed his touch and the heat his body provided.

Her shivering subsided after a long while and her tears dried. He hadn't said a word to soothe her, and she was grateful for it. He didn't know why she was crying and therefore only could have said the wrong things.

"Did you mean that when you said it's an awful potion?" she whispered into the silence of his arm she lay cradled in.

Snape pulled her a bit closer, his hand still gently stroking her hair. Hermione nearly felt his urge to apologise – but what would have been the use of that? She was absolutely certain that he would take her again, willingly or not, and that she was trapped here with him. And as if he had heard her thoughts, he didn't say a word to excuse his actions. He did explain about the potion, though.

"There are two aspects to this potion," he began hesitantly, then continued more firmly, merely reporting dry facts. "One is to enable the man to have an erection whenever his partner desires him; in case a woman takes the potion, she will be wet whenever her partner wants to penetrate her.

"But you took an overdose," Hermione whispered and slid her hand over his hip.

She heard his breath hitch at her touch. Then, he sighed deeply and told her the rest. "Because of the overdose, it will take more than your hand to bring me to climax. A lot more. The second aspect of the potion is to add sensation to the act itself – thus the sensitivity of the skin. In other words, making love in only one position or one way gets boring when under the influence of the potion, and release becomes impossible. A certain variety will become desirable, even necessary, which was exactly what Lucius was craving for." Closing his eyes for a moment, he whispered, "But as the most urgent need has been stilled, I will try... I promise I will try not to take you against your will again."

She turned with a quick move and stared at him, wide-eyed.

"You mean... different positions? Different... ways?" She didn't blush. She became pale instead – she had detected the hesitation in his words when he had made his promise and was quite certain that he wouldn't be able to keep it. If she tried to go now, she had the feeling that he wouldn't let her. He had already taken her in his potion-induced desire. He had hurt her, had made her cry. In the end he hadn't even managed to make her come.

But then, he possibly had also a very wrong idea of why she had cried.

"You should not be here," he said quietly, confirming her guess.

Hermione saw the self-hate in his face and realised that he had misunderstood her. His clear words hadn't shocked her. In fact, she had always found clear words the easiest way to deal with unusual situations.

"I don't want to be anywhere else," she said firmly, taken by surprise that this was actually the truth. She wanted to be exactly where she was – in this man's bed.

Still, it wasn't easy to continue. The words she needed to say were hard to find. "When you... when you... took me... First, it hurt; then it hurt less; then it started to feel... it felt good. Then you stopped. You stopped too soon."

Finally blushing, she bit her lips. "I know you couldn't help yourself, and I know that me being in your bed nearly naked... drove you. It was clear that you didn't want that to happen. And it is obvious that you hate me being here, that you despise being in need of my assistance."

"Don't," he croaked, shocked at her self-accusation. "Don't say that. None of this is your fault, so don't blame yourself for what I did." He wiped the drying tears away from her still wet cheeks. In his eyes she could see the sorrow he felt about his actions. And she could already see the irresistible need to take her again even against her will.

It didn't matter. What he didn't know yet was that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

She closed her eyes, found his hand and pulled it up to her breast. Stunned, he watched her as she edged another little bit closer so his hand could rest there comfortably. His fingers acted on their own and began to circle her nipple.

With an unsteady voice, embarrassed to the bones, she murmured, "You don't understand – when it had stopped hurting, I enjoyed it. I didn't expect it, but it happened nevertheless, and can you... do you think... next time you could... make me... come? Because I nearly did come and... and... it hurt! Not to reach the peak, not to come. You started something and didn't finish it and that... feeling inside me is big and frightening, and crying was the only way to master it. But next time... I'm sure I will break if you don't make me come."

**********************

She was talking about a next time so easily, it took his breath away. Never before had he thought about her or any other student in those ways; and never before had he been in such a delicate, awful situation. He didn't care much about women; he didn't care much about sex. Or so he had thought. So he had told himself as every lonely man did in order to be able to find some peace.

And now this girl was here in his bed, and touching her was heaven. Feeling her was paradise. Her fingertips that were now tracing his lips left coolness in their wake, stilling the flames that licked at him.

Snape felt his heart hammering in his chest, felt his blood rushing through his veins and believed for the first time in many hours that maybe he would survive this night without ending up screaming and driven to insanity with unfulfilled desire. The woman in his arms was adorable, wonderful, incredible – and she wanted him. She had said so. She was here with him, and she was willing to do a lot more than just use her hands for his benefit.

He should have made her leave, but couldn't.

He would have to take her again, but clearly couldn't do that, either. If he wanted to ever face himself in a mirror again, he couldn't.

He gently touched her cheek. "Whatever you wish," he said.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and freed herself from his embrace, rolling swiftly on her back. Then she closed her eyes and blushed even deeper. "You don't happen to have a salve to put on those bruises you caused?"