Powerless

A/N: My beta pointed out to me that the scene at the beginning of this chapter is somehow similar to a scene in "Care of Magical Creatures" by mia madwyn. I have not read that fic (and therefore didn't nick the scene) but consider it fair to warn you. Please judge for yourself.

@Mia: Now then – please let me know how similar it is...

4: Powerless

Snape knelt next to the naked girl in his bed and carefully avoided touching her with more than his fingertips. His desire had subsided for the moment. The pain had been eased by two very much needed orgasms, and he was able to concentrate enough to do what the girl had asked him to do: apply the salve that would quickly heal the bruises and small chaps his ruthless thrusting had caused. Of course, he was aware of the fact that touching her would arouse him quickly again, but then, this would happen anyway, so he might as well make this easier for her by doing what was necessary.

He had summoned the pot with the salve and had placed himself beside her, looking down at her. She was lying on her back, her legs slightly parted, her eyes shut. She seemed relaxed, and he imagined that she would anticipate his touch. He, certainly, was longing to touch her and was deeply worried that, before the night had ended, he would have her momentary trust in him shattered to pieces by simply being unable to keep control over his need.

She had refused to apply the salve herself. "By the look in your face, I assume that touching me will ease your symptoms," she had stated briskly and had refused to move as much as a finger.

Damn her. Why did she always have to be right? Touching her calmed down his heartbeat, eased his panic that she might leave, and gave him a deeply content feeling about the whole situation.

On the other hand, it made him want her.

Hell, didn't she know what she was doing to him? The sight of her – her soft skin, her curly hair, her long, slender legs, her narrow hips, her small, perfect breasts, her light brown pubic hair, the ribs he could see under her slowly moving chest – flushed him with lust, and his hands trembled when he dipped his fingers into the salve. His cock was already hardening again; it would soon be screaming for her, but at the moment he managed to ignore it.

Hesitantly, he touched her thigh and began to rub in the salve. Her skin felt cool under his hands.

She sighed with relief when the first bruises vanished under his massage. Her fingers that had clutched the sheets somewhat nervously for the past few minutes went still, and a small smile appeared on her lips. "Feels good," she murmured. "Go on, please."

Even more careful now after this confirmation, he worked his way up, treated each bruise and each scratch with delicate care. They vanished, leaving soft, tender flesh in the wake of his treatment.

Her legs spread just a notch wider. Her nostrils flared when his hand slid higher, and his fingers touched her slightly swollen outer lips. Swallowing hard, he took them between thumb and index finger, squeezing lightly, massaging slightly, and thus applying the salve.

She made a small sound of desire and opened herself for him, revealing her glittering wetness.

Rational thought left him rapidly. Gone was his intention to only allow her to touch him whenever it was necessary. Gone was the promise that he wouldn't fuck her again. Gone was the memory that not too long ago he had caused her pain. The only thing left was the need to continue.

His right hand parted her, and she moaned. His left wrapped itself round his cock, and he groaned.

Very carefully, he slipped his middle finger inside her, his thumb brushing lightly over her clit. She was lying still, but her hands were kneading the sheets into crumply heaps. Her mouth was parted, her tongue licked her lips, her nipples were hard. "Mmmmmh," she murmured.

She was very wet, and he slipped his finger deeper inside her. His left hand was moving up and down his shaft, only causing frustration as it was useless, but he couldn't help doing it anyway – he was too hard to not at least try to seek release.

A second finger found its way into her tight channel – she hissed with pain, and there was even a bit of blood on his fingers, but her hips nevertheless bucked lightly against his hand.

He froze. She was hot and wanted more, and he could think of nothing else but sheathing himself as fast and deep as possible inside her. But she was hurting as well, and he should just apply that damn salve.

And then he didn't think anymore of the things he should do and couldn't do and mustn't do and had to do. Instead, he pulled back his fingers a bit and spread her a little wider at the same time. His other hand found the pot with the salve, dug in, and just a second later he had smeared it over his cock all along his shaft. The tingling sensation the potion ingredients left on his length was highly uncomfortable, but what the hell – he couldn't think of himself all the time.

Her eyes were open when he looked at her again. "What are you doing?" she whispered, and he would have sworn he heard lust in her voice.

She moved her gaze down to his cock, then to the pot with salve; then she smiled and reached out a hand. "Brilliant idea."

She found his shoulder and pulled him down on top of her, and he didn't resist. Of course he didn't resist. He was nothing but desire and pain; she was all he wanted and needed.

With the last shred of will he had left, he prevented himself from burying his cock inside her with a quick, hard thrust. Instead, he lingered at her hot entrance, feeling his cock on his own fingertips that were still parting her. His chest hurt as he held his breath, trying with all his might to slow down.

Her hand slipped down his back. One of her legs moved around his hip, her heel dug in his arse and urged him on, and just like that he lost control again. Thanks to her wetness and the salve, he slid inside her smoothly, ignoring her gasp of renewed pain and reassured himself that now the salve would work on even the most hidden parts of her fragile young body.

He started to move in and out of her. Her painful gasping subsided. Instead, her hips started to match his rhythm. He pulled back just a little bit, then pushed again, slightly harder.

"More!"

And again. He had shut his eyes by now, was guided by his cock, and before his inner eye he saw flashlights dancing in the blackness. Where his skin touched hers, where her body enwrapped his, there was pleasure. Where he touched the sheets, or where his skin was just exposed to the air, he felt either a searing pain or a fiery, hellish heat.

He moved faster now, and she moved with him. Both her legs were entwined behind his back, his elbows carried his weight so he wouldn't crush her, and she moaned loudly whenever he thrust harder, more urgent, more demanding.

Her mouth opened. "De-eper!" she gasped, and he did as she wished, fucked her harder and deeper, completely bereft of the power to rein himself in. He just needed to come again, inside her, as deep inside her as possible. He could, thankfully, blissfully, feel his orgasm building up – a little bit longer, a little bit more, a few more thrusts...

...what about her?

Snape's eyes flew open, and he believed for a moment that the required strength not to let his lids drop close again would surely tear his brain apart. The dim light of the candles stabbed his pupils, but it had the needed effect: he was able to catch his breath for a few brief seconds to take a look at the girl underneath him.

She was close, so close to her own orgasm, but if he wasn't careful, she would miss it again. Her breath came in harsh, short sobs; her fingers were digging holes in his skin as she met with his against his thrusting hips. He stared at her in disbelief, then remembered with an abandoned section of his usually well-working brain that she had liked his hand on her breast.

Not stopping what he was doing with his cock, he still managed to lower his head to her throat, nudged her chin up and bit her slightly whilst his hand found her breast and his fingers deliberately pinched her erect nipple.

She gasped and came, riding out her orgasm, and it sent him over the edge as well. For the third time since she had entered his rooms through the Floo, he came, and the pain eased once more, the desire temporarily sated, the maddening lust stilled for the moment.

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

"I will kill them. I will skin them alive, chop them to pieces, crush and grind them into non-existence. They won't see another sunset. When I'm finished with them, nothing will be left but dust. Ashes. A few splinters of broken bones, maybe."

"How about disembowelling them first?" Hermione asked and let her hands wander across Snape's chest. She sat behind him in order to prevent his back from touching the pillow. His head rested against her shoulder; her arms were wrapped around his body. Her legs were spread to make room for him. One of her knees was propped up, and his long fingers languidly traced meaningless patterns on her ankle and calf. Lightly she caressed him, ran her hands through his hair, followed his jaw line, found her way back to his chest. For him, it felt like icy water on the bushfire of his tormented skin.

"Excellent idea," he agreed, leaning into her touch. "In the Middle Ages the Inquisition came up with some interesting methods to convert or punish heretics. I guess I could adopt a few for Potter and Weasley."

His eyes were closed as he deeply inhaled her musky scent. He was relaxed, even his heartbeat had slowed down a bit, a simple pleasure, but much welcomed after the galloping of the past few hours. Sometimes, he had truly feared his heart would break his chest.

It was way past midnight now. The aphrodisiac hadn't lost its power yet, and his need had demanded release many times by now. Despite the current break he was exhausted, worn out, and as his physical strength dwindled, the pain became worse with every breath he took.

Often, she had simply brought him off; nearly as often she had slept with him, had taken him inside her with a desire that matched his own. He still couldn't believe it.

She had come with him, had screamed his name, had whimpered and moaned under his touch, had given herself over more than willingly whenever he had demanded release. And she seemed to enjoy it – every moment of it. She really and truly seemed to like being here in his bedroom, in his bed – touching him, caressing him. Fucking him.

Impossible.

As he lay cradled in her arms, he could feel her slow and steady heartbeat, hear her breathing and feel the curls of her hair on his neck. He thought how much he hated those damn boys who had driven her into his bed under those damnable circumstances. Because if this hadn't happened, he would still be able to imagine her coming to him of her own free will and not driven by her stupid Gryffindor urge to help even those who didn't deserve help.

Sighing deeply, he ran his hand up to her thigh and wondered if he had ever enjoyed a woman's company as much as he enjoyed hers. He wondered how they would get along after the next morning when the potion had left his system and she had left his bed. And he wondered how he'd manage to get through the rest of the night. He was almost too tired to even talk, and she was in no condition to endure any more sexual attention from him. She was sore; even the salve couldn't solve that problem anymore. There was no way he could enter her again without causing her enough pain to scream out in agony.

"The iron maid," she suggested, interrupting his thoughts, and traced her fingertips across his hollow cheeks and his clenched jaws. "Or the Spanish boot. A bit of whipping would teach them a lesson on not to dose anyone's tea with a potion they don't know, and I am certain we could persuade the Thestrals to tear them apart. Come to think of it – how about a dragon? They would make nice dragon food, don't you think?"

"Hmmm," he agreed, one hand on her leg. He was starving, but getting up was not a possibility, and he wouldn't be able to keep any food down right now anyway. "Aragog's children would be glad to have them for dinner as well, I suppose."

Talking about the revenge he would take on Potter and Weasley was a surprisingly joyful conversational subject. But he was so very tired, and every inch of his body was aching. How long until sunrise? he thought, and forced some air into his lungs.

Hermione laughed and brought both hands down to his abdomen. In the past hours, she had learned a lot about the man she was with, a man who might resemble the Potions master, but whom she had known in absolutely no way whatsoever before tonight. True, he was still black-haired, black-eyed and pale, but even his physical form seemed to be different – the Snape she knew was always towering over her, was always dressed in that forbidding black, and certainly was not a man she could cause to chuckle about a cheeky remark.

This man, the man in her arms, was vulnerable and entirely in her hands. To see him naked, to see the slim frame, the long, slender bones, to have him accept, even enjoy her embrace, made him extremely human all of a sudden. That he was so very dependant on her kept the butterflies flying in her stomach. No, this was certainly not her Potions master.

She had made him come more often than she had pleased herself in the darkness of her room; she had slept with him more often than she had as much as thought about sleeping with anyone before. And he had made her come, repeatedly, something she hadn't expected at all when she had first touched him. That an orgasm could be so big, so overwhelming, had been news to her. That she could enjoy losing herself in someone else's embrace had been nothing less than a shock as she had believed herself to be someone who would never ever willingly lose control.

She moved slightly and perceived that Severus – when have I started to call him Severus? – had dozed off. With a smile, she very carefully allowed his body to slip to the mattress and got up to stretch her muscles. She eased her shoulders and her lower back, turned her head to the left and right and stretched out her arms. Every part of her body was aching and would ache worse in the morning, definitely after what she had done tonight.

Thoughtfully, she looked down at him. This was wearing him out badly, she could see that. Although asleep, he looked haunted, and his skin was red and sore where, at one time or another, it had touched the sheets or the pillow during their love-making. His back and legs looked worse as if he had been whipped. Even her touch could not bring relief there.

His cock, never less than half hard, was already stirring again, and with a sudden rush of cool determination, Hermione decided that she would indeed find a way to get back at Ron and Harry for what they had done to him.

Following a sudden urge, she bent down and brushed a strand of hair out of his face. She almost brushed his lips with hers.

Instead, she took a step back. She was thirsty, and so she went looking for something to drink. On the desk that stood in the bedroom, she spotted a jug and a glass, and she poured herself some water, which she drank in deep draughts.

She felt so... different. Not like she had felt yesterday, not like she had felt a few hours ago when she had stepped out of the flames right into a possible nightmare. But it hadn't turned out to be a nightmare. Instead, it had become the strangest, most exciting night in her life. She certainly felt substantially older; she felt as if she could face anything from now on.

She didn't feel bad, though, as she had expected after she had first cried out her lust into his neck, after she had first allowed him, begged him to make her come. Surprisingly enough, she didn't want to leave, either. The thought of his cock once more moving inside her made her wet instantly and left her cringing as well, as she was sore beyond belief.

He would need her for another few times, she guessed and rolled the cool glass over her forehead. For nearly an hour now, he had stayed calm, and she guessed that he would need her maybe four or five times more before sunrise would end the potion's cruel grip. I wonder how we will get on, after this night, she thought, put the glass down, and went back to bed. Oddly enough, it felt strange to be away from him even just these few steps.

The sheet had slipped onto the floor, and out of habit she bent and picked it up.

An iron grip enclosed her wrist, and she winced in surprise. "Ow!" she exclaimed and shot up, leaving the cover where it was. "What... ow! Let go!"

Snape's hand was clasped around her wrist and nearly broke it. He was awake but dreadfully pale, and his chest, which had moved so silently in his slumber just minutes ago, was now heaving unevenly.

"Don't... leave me!"

The look in his eyes... Hermione's heartbeat skipped a beat when she saw this look. Infinite blackness was mixed with deepest panic – panic about the fact that she hadn't been beside him when he had woken up, she realised. Quickly, she sat beside him, ignoring the pain in her wrist, and placed her free hand on his arm, brushed his lips with her fingertips, then bent lower and gently breathed on his skin. His fingers opened and released her hand, but found their way up to her neck where he entwined them in her hair.

"I'm here," Hermione murmured soothingly. "I just had something to drink. Please, it is all right, I'm here." Pulling both legs up on the bed, she took his arm and placed it round her waist; then she slowly began to move her hands across his shoulders and arms. She could feel his muscles tremble, she could see his heart beat in his chest, and she saw the despair in his eyes.

"This is affecting you emotionally as well as physically," she said softly, tracing her fingertips along his collarbone. "I will not leave you. I will stay as long as you need me. I promise." Her palm cupped his cheek; his eyes fluttered close and he exhaled a long, shaky breath.

"I... should have told you that there's an emotional component as well," he murmured after a while. "It's not only because I need you. It's... I need to feel you near me, close to me. I need to touch you. The thought of you not being here with me... is unbearable. I am sorry."

Goodness, won't those butterflies stop flying sometime tonight? she thought with a smile.

When he had calmed down a bit, he took her wrist between his strong fingers. "I apologise," he said simply. "More bruises – I wonder why you don't just slaughter me."

Across his chest her hands brushed, over his ribs, down his arms and up to his neck, then down to his belly and over his hipbones. In the past hours she had learned that her touch needed to be firm and light as well to still the feeling of flames licking all over him. "Those bruises aren't permanent," she dismissed his concern. "And it is very obvious that you can't be without me at the moment. There is no need to apologise. I only wish you wouldn't suffer so badly from the potion."

Then she took his hand into hers and examined it closely to avoid the thunderstruck expression in his eyes. Did he still not understand that she liked being here with him? Hadn't she screamed out often enough by now in his embrace, hadn't she made it clear enough that she wasn't here because she had to, but because she simply wanted him?

Hmmmm. Obviously not, or he wouldn't be so surprised.

She pulled his hand closer and turned it slightly into the light of the candles, adoring the long, strong fingers and admiring the delicate structure of this extremely skilled human tool. She touched every finger, explored the swell of each knuckle and the shape of his nails, teased the small hairs and probed the soft webs between the bones, felt the joints and followed the tiny scars and scratches that preparing potion ingredients had left upon this hand. Touching his hand and caressing it aroused her, she found, and she looked up at him, searching for his face.

There was a sparkle in his eyes and desire and something else. There was a longing that hadn't been there earlier on – a longing for more than a mere fuck, she imagined and shivered at the thought. Indeed, how would they get on after this night?

But the night wasn't over yet. He had reacted to her touch, was hard once more, and she was wet for him. Gently, she placed his hand on her thigh so his fingertips could just reach the point between her legs where she wanted to be touched. Even more gently, she wrapped her hand round his length, picking up the slow rhythm he liked best in the beginning.

He sighed, half with relief, half with lust. His hand moved on until one of his fingers slipped into her wetness.

She flinched. It hurt more than she would have thought, and she couldn't suppress a groan.

Instantly, he removed his hand. He stared into her tired eyes, at her creased eyebrows, at the way she was biting her lips. Pulling back his hand, he turned away from her and dug his head into the pillow. His body language screamed with frustration, disgust and desperation.

"This is too much for you. You can't..." he started, but she interrupted him by grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to face her.

"But I want you. You felt it – I want you, and I don't care if it hurts a bit. The soreness will be forgotten once you are inside me, and full intercourse will buy you at least two hours of peace."

He sat up and ignored the agony in his tortured back, scrubbing against his pillow that felt as if it was made of barbed wire. "I won't do it." He searched for her hand and, when he found it, pulled it down and wrapped her fingers round his hardness again. He was quite sore himself. The contact with her soft palm was still painful enough to make him wince, although he hungered for another climax. Not letting go of her, he forced her into a faster rhythm in order to finish this as quickly as possible.

She shook her head, snatched his wrist, and stopped him. Still, after so many hours in his bed, he didn't understand that she needed him nearly as much as he needed her. Her whole body was craving him, each inch wished to be touched, every cell of her wanted him inside her and not just in her hand.

"I want you," she demanded and leaning down, brought her mouth close to his ear. "And you want me, too." To ease his immediate pain she continued to move her hand up and down his cock but slowly, gently, not nearly as hard and fast as he needed it to come.

Her mouth was touching his ear now, and she whispered the first words of a spell. An idea had intrigued her, and she wanted to try it, aware of the fact that indeed her vagina was aching too much to harbour his length again. But his fingers, she figured whilst whispering, will be more than enough. His fingers would be circling, teasing, squeezing her clit whilst his cock would be spilling elsewhere.

She finished the spell only a moment later, feeling his length becoming slick instantly. Simultaneously, his body became rigid – he obviously knew the spell, understood what she wanted him to do, and refused.

But at the same moment he tried to move away from her, she felt his cock getting very hard in her hand, felt his pulse shooting up, felt his speeding heartbeat responding to her offer. Maybe his brain said he couldn't do it, but his body said in clear terms that he wanted it. Wanted it badly.

She pulled him over so he was lying on his side and turned round as well, placing her bum right into his lap. Her own heart was hammering a fast staccato in her chest, and her desire had, somehow, doubled. The throbbing between her legs had spread to her back entrance, and lust was now pulsating everywhere between her legs like crazy. To say the spell, to articulate her wishes so clearly, made her slightly dizzy – when had she become so shameless?

Ah, yes. In the past few hours that she had spent with her Potions master.

Snape's arm slipped round her waist and pulled her closer. His other hand found its way between their bodies and down to his cock. Hermione could feel it at her back and the lubrication the spell had caused; it was covering his length as well as her waiting bum as he demandingly rubbed his cock against her buttocks. She could feel him stroking himself, heard herself moaning with desire, then felt his tip touching the tender skin between her buttocks.

"Good gods, Severus, please do it," she breathed and offered her bum by pressing it harder against his cock.

Then there were his long, burning fingers, and he used one to find her anus, circling it, teasing it. His hand, slick from the lubricant, became curious, and as carefully as possible he slipped one finger a tiny little bit inside her. That muscle – it was tight, and it clenched round his fingers, and Hermione's breath hitched.

"Yes!" she whispered and didn't dare to move in fear of doing something wrong. This was new and different, dirty and wonderful.

Gently, silently, slowly, he pushed his cock into that second, secret entrance – that passage she hadn't thought about until recently. She felt the tip of his cock lingering, she felt his fingers searching, then she felt him slipping inside her tight arse.

Admittedly, she had expected pain. But there was none, simply because her spell had worked perfectly and because he was so very patient by entering her and so very slow and most careful not to hurt her. He barely moved, just pressed his hips against her und thus was gliding easily deeper insider her bum.

It felt marvellous. Utterly wrong, somehow completely forbidden, strangely perfect. "Gods... Merlin!" she moaned when he finally began to move, spreading that small hole and the tight muscle with his hard and needy cock. And now she had him where she wanted him, she wanted him to thrust deeper, and a bit harder, and maybe just a nudge faster. He filled her in a way she hadn't believed possible, and she wanted more. Now.

His free hand found her clit, found her wetness, and whilst he fucked her from behind, his clever fingers circled her clit lightly, driving her crazy.

She felt like fainting, or like dying, like flying and crying, and she wished this night would never end.

Her first orgasm washed over her long before he was ready, quickly followed by a second one. Still he didn't stop. She heard herself whimpering his name, observed from a distance that she just moaned, "Yes, Yes, YES!" over and over again. Then she lost contact with reality for a brief, endless moment and came again, this time feeling him orgasm as well deep inside her, moaning and grunting and with his face buried in her hair.

Feeling safe in his arms, feeling him still inside her, she was completely entranced, enjoying the sensation of floating like a feather somewhere outside her own body. And thus, she entirely missed the lightest of kisses he placed on her exposed neck.

A/N: The scene where Hermione caresses Snape's hand was inspired by Laurie King's book "Oh, Jerusalem", featuring Mary Russell and Sherlock Holmes. There it is Holmes, caressing Russell's hand. I simply couldn't resist adapting it.