Sunrise

5: Sunrise

"I think it's quite obvious why slaughter is out of the question here," Hermione said, slightly sleepy and cradled in Snape's arms. Sunrise was perhaps an hour away; their last encounter had given him rest not only for two, but for over three hours. Her back was pressed against his chest; her upper arm was placed on his hip. His breath, a bit uneven, touched her neck and made her smile. He had dozed for about half an hour; now that he was awake again she wanted to hear his voice and feel his attention.

In the long aftermath of her orgasm, in the quiet hours of very early morning, she had forgotten that for him this was a necessity, not something he wanted to do or would have ever considered doing under normal circumstances. She was tired, but in heaven as well. He was beyond exhaustion and as close to hell as possible for a man still alive.

The brutal facts hit her when he didn't respond to her words and instead stiffened under her touch, gasping with pain. She had traced the long muscles in his thigh at the back of his leg; then, she became aware of the fact that he started shivering all over. "What's wrong?" she asked anxiously. Carefully, she turned over to face him.

His eyes were shut, his face deathly pale. "Cold," he murmured. "I'm so damn cold, but if I cover myself I will start screaming."

Hermione sat up, carefully making sure that her hands didn't leave his body at any time. She took in the beads of sweat that stood on his forehead, the muscles that were working in his jaws. Dread was painted on his face at the thought of the next rush of desire that would definitely claim him again before the sun was up.

"I cannot go through this again," he whispered through chattering teeth. "I'm too tired, and it hurts too much. I can't even stand your touch anymore. It hurts. Every bloody single little bit of me hurts."

Fear washed over Hermione and took away the sleepiness. Only a moment ago, she had felt completely happy, had felt wonderful, had thought that for a change the night had turned out a lot better than expected; now she felt nothing but guilt at her selfishness. She had enjoyed this so much, every moment of it, and had hoped that for the main part of the night Severus had enjoyed it as well.

But now it had turned into torture again despite her effort to see him through the night unharmed. The dose he had been given wasn't quite killing him, but came close. She could see that he was craving her touch as much as he feared it – a truly demonic mixture.

"Maybe it won't be necessary," she said, reassurance in her voice. "Maybe it's over, maybe you can rest now – sunrise is near. In less than an hour this here will be over."

"Not yet," he rasped and clutched his arms round his shaking body. "You can feel it. I'm freezing, but my skin is still burning. Not... not over yet." He was hunching his shoulders. Hermione heard him grinding his teeth, trying to keep in the pained gasps that wanted to emerge.

Good gods, Hermione thought. How shall I help him if I can't even touch him? Desperately, she looked round, sitting as close as possible to the naked, trembling man in the bed. One of her hands rested on his hip, the other was just touching his fingertips so he could feel her being near him. Most parts of his skin looked as if she had scratched him with razor sharp nails for the last hours instead of simply caressing him. Here and there – on shoulder blades, buttocks, legs – blood drops turned up and seeped into the white sheets.

Her gaze fell on something that stood forgotten on the bedside table; the pot with the salve he had used to treat her bruises. For some reason, neither had thought of using it to ease his symptoms, but then, the touch of her hand had been enough for that. Pity that now she couldn't use it as massaging it into his skin with strong hands would send him to hell with pain.

A tiny idea sparkled in Hermione's mind. Slowly, she reached out and took the pot, scrubbing out a small handful of the creamy substance. Collecting it in the middle of her palm, she then concentrated and cast a silent spell, freezing the salve into a small ball of ice.

Snape stirred, searching for her. His eyes were still closed.

"Just a moment," Hermione murmured and put the pot back on the bedside table. If this worked, if she could ease his pain again, she might even be able to find a position and a way they hadn't tried out yet that would guarantee him a satisfying, and hopefully last, orgasm for the night.

But that was for later; first, she placed the frozen salve on his shoulder and ran it lightly and relatively fast down across his back to his hip bone.

The small wounds healed in the wake of her movement. They weren't too deep, mere cracks in the skin, and she didn't need to use force. Snape's hot skin melted the ice; the salve could seep in and ease the pain.

Snape, who had sucked in his breath sharply at the first contact of the ice cube, exhaled with relief and relaxed slightly. "What's... that?" he gasped, and Hermione saw that he had dug his hands into the pillow. She could only assume that he was close to jumping out of bed, fleeing the coldness the iced salve left, and trying with all his might to withstand his instincts. "Cold!" he managed. "But... good. What... what are you doing?"

She smiled. "I had an idea. It's a trick – I froze the salve. I'm sorry that it's so cold, but it heals the worst areas. Can you feel it?" All over his back she moved the ice cube, from his neck along his spine down to his bum and up again until nothing was left – neither salve nor open wounds. No wonder I healed that fast when he had used it to heal me, she mused. This stuff is powerful!

He couldn't stop shivering. But he murmured, "Go on," and relaxed a bit more.

Instantly, Hermione froze the next handful of salve. This time she took care of his legs, letting the small ball of ice wander over his shins, his calves, and his thighs before she turned him onto his belly and concentrated on his bum and his back. She felt his steadying heartbeat under her palms, and she was most grateful that her idea seemed to work, although the coldness of the ice-salve made him shiver even more. Compared to the result, it was a small price to pay. And he didn't complain, despite his chattering teeth. He still looked like he had been attacked with a knife, but at least he seemed to be able to breathe more easily.

In the process of scrubbing the salve out, freezing it, and working it into his skin, her fingers became slick with the melted substance. Tentatively, she rubbed her fingertips together before she began to gently massage his neck. She barely needed to touch him to ease his pain, and with each breath he took, he relaxed more.

For about fifteen minutes she worked on him in silence, applying the salve and reassuring him of her presence with her light touch. He had turned onto his back by then and was lying spread-eagled on his bed, his head slightly tipped to one side. The pulse in his throat was beating a slow rhythm.

But of course this moment of peace wasn't to last. Hermione was just slipping the rest of the frozen salve down his chest when his cock began to stir. Her hands halted, resting on his lower abdomen, and she felt his muscles harden instantly – he had been close to enjoying this, but his cock got rock-hard in such a short time it sent a bolt of pain through his body from head to toes.

Hermione looked at his face, his eyes not only closed but squeezed shut with pain, and knew what she would do.

Very gently, she wrapped her creamy fingers round his length and began to stroke him, knowing only too well it wouldn't work. She had done that too often in the past hours – as much as he had liked it, the potion still demanded variety. Giving him another hand-job wasn't an option anymore, but luckily she knew that and was certain she would find a way to send him over the edge once more, only once more.

Hermione caressed him lazily. "Don't move," she told him. "I will do what is necessary. Just... enjoy it."

Without hesitation, she settled her fingers at the base of his shaft. What she was about to do she had wanted to try hours before. He had hindered her, clearly too embarrassed to allow her to do it. Yet she had seen how much he had wanted her to do it – therefore, she now slid down to his waist, adjusted her position so that she was comfortable, bent down and swiftly closed her lips round the tip of his cock.

As he was in no condition to move anymore, not even his arms and hands, he was not able anymore to hinder her. But his hips bucked once, and he gave a low, raw gasp.

Hermione's right hand moved up his length again and pulled back his foreskin, revealing the silken texture of the head. Tentatively, she allowed her tongue to caress him, to circle around that round, strange part of his cock, to follow the thin slit at the top. Hard it felt, that head, and soft as well, and it was not at all like the other skin on his body or even on his penis. She flicked her tongue. Then she carefully sucked, just to find out if he liked it.

His moans became louder.

Her hand slipped lower and rhythmically began squeezing his testicles. Simultaneously her lips, always covering her teeth, applied a certain pressure whilst her tongue danced on him.

"Goodness," he murmured. "Good... grief!"

Hermione smiled at this confirmation that he indeed liked what she was doing and was surprised at the same time how easy this was and how good it felt. For some reason, from the things the girls in her dormitory had told her, she had expected a blow job to be somewhat disgusting, something that needed a certain effort to overcome a bit of revulsion. She couldn't see why the girls had said that – she was intrigued by the feeling and the power she had over him simply by satisfying him with her mouth, her lips, and her tongue.

But then – in the past hours in his bed she had felt his tongue inside her, had allowed him to taste her. Back then, she had been entirely in his hands and she had loved it. Maybe that had changed her view on certain things? He had nothing less but demanded to taste her, to feel her, to explore her in every possible way. His hands had been everywhere, his cock, his mouth, even his breath, and once she had had the incredulous, impossible feeling of his mind melting with hers.

Hermione considered it only fair to have him at her mercy now, to have him come in her mouth.

She didn't move much, didn't get closer although she wanted to, as she knew he wouldn't be able to endure it. But her tongue and her lips and her caressing fingers were enough to make him groan loudly. His hands searched and found her head and buried themselves in her long locks, holding her lightly, but determinedly, down at the level of his groin. Hermione found this strangely arousing, being pinned into a position so delicate and intimate, and out of nowhere came the thought, I bet I can make him scream when he comes.

How dirty a thought; how intriguing an idea. How shocking that she, Hermione Granger, would come up with such plans.

In the past hours – since her first orgasm – she had been loud, had repeatedly screamed with lust and desire. She had hungered for him, and she had made it very clear that she wanted him as much as he needed her. Discovering the simple fact that she not only enjoyed having sex but especially loved his touch and his full attention had come as a shock at first, but she had accepted it more or less immediately because – well, because sleeping with him had been and still was so very, very good.

On the other hand, he had held back his emotions. He had moaned and groaned, had never allowed to lose himself in her embrace and had bitten back every audible sign of his orgasms. She had seen that it had required a lot of self-control, especially under the influence of the potion, and she had disliked it. She not only wanted, but needed to see him lose control; she wanted him to be as much at a loss for words after his climax as she had been after hers. She needed to be certain that this night was as special for him as it was for her, and her instincts told her that if she allowed him to keep control, he would be nothing but her Potions master again in the morning. And that was unacceptable for her.

Then make him scream, her mind whispered.

Her fingers, still slick from the salve, sneaked on silently and nearly unnoticed while her tongue and her lips were teasing his cock. They went between his legs and lightly stroked the area underneath his testicles and continued onwards to touch the inside of his buttocks.

Obviously, that was enjoyable as his groans became deeper and because he parted his legs, spreading them to grant her better access. A moment later, he bent one knee and slightly moved his hips so that her hand could caress his buttocks.

Her right thumb was massaging the sensitive bridge between scrotum and bum. She could feel him shiver and prayed it was not from cold or fatigue. She hoped he shivered with anticipation – that he knew what she was up to and wanted her to go on.

Her lips curved when she took his lenght deeper in her mouth and flicked her tongue faster. There was a bit of liquid on the tip of his cock, not her saliva, but the first sign of his orgasm. It tasted a little salty.

His hips rocked gently, thus allowing his cock to slide in and out of the dark cave of her mouth. The muscles in his arse moved under her hand, and when he moaned again, using his bent leg to push upwards into her mouth, she momentarily tightened her grip on his bum.

"Yes!" he whispered, and it was her now who trembled. This time he wouldn't be able to stay silent.

Another flick with her tongue, another stroke with her fingertips. She felt his grip on her head tighten only so slightly, urging her on. And so she slipped one deft, creamy finger deep into his anus.

"Gods!" he roared, and she let a second finger immediately follow the first one. The strong muscle in his arse clenched round her fingers, and then he bucked violently against her hand.

She pulled her hand back, then pushed again, pulling and pushing in an endless rhythm, each time driving her fingers deeper inside him.

His hoarse scream was music in her ears. She sucked him with her mouth and fucked him with her strong, slender fingers, vaguely hearing him begging for more, and therefore, delighted, she gave him more.

Many long moments later he came, spilled his bittersweet semen into her mouth, and was loud enough in the release of his lust to wake up every single student at Hogwarts, had his rooms not been warded by silencing spells.

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

Hermione's eyes were closed, and a delighted smile curved her full lips whilst she rested beside him, the fingers of one hand entwined in his. As light as the butterfly wings that still danced in her stomach, she traced his eyebrows with her fingertips, found the corner of his eye, then whispered down across his cheek and past his mouth to his throat where his pulse reluctantly was getting back to a slower rhythm.

His eyes were open, although she could see in his face how immensely tired he was. More than tired. Exhausted. Done. Finished.

But he didn't look haunted anymore.

"What have you done to me, girl?" he murmured softly.

Her smile deepened, and she opened her eyes, looking back at him. Slowly, a hint of red crept into her cheeks.

"I thought... I wondered if you would like it," she said and blushed a bit deeper. Half expecting a scowl, she was nothing less than thunderstruck when he flashed her the first smile she had seen on his lips during the entire night. It was not only very unexpected, but surprisingly charming as well, changing the hard features of his face completely. For a brief moment she saw that he was not at all the sarcastic, sardonic, unfair, cruel, demanding teacher he impersonated under normal circumstances, wasn't even the man anymore who had desired and taken her. She suddenly saw the boy within the man, a boy who just had experienced a miracle first hand.

The butterflies in Hermione's stomach vanished; instead, they got replaced by a strange, wonderful pain, flooding her body and claiming her heart. It was powerful enough to take her breath away.

She didn't see Professor Snape, her Potions master. She saw a stranger in the bed lying next to her, a stranger who was too weak to move, too tired to talk, too exhausted to touch her. A stranger with a smile that made her wish she could stay.

Stroking this stranger's cheek with her fingertips, she wanted nothing more than to stay with him.

His breathing became deeper, his eyes dropped closed. "Hermione. Wish I could tell you..." he murmured. And in the next moment he was asleep.

Hermione's eyes widened. "What? What do you wish you could tell me?" she pressed in a low voice, but nevertheless urgent. She wanted to shake him, wake him. She sat up and hoped he would feel the movement, would pull her down again.

His chest was moving in a slow, regular, deep rhythm, and she knew her hopes were in vain. He wouldn't answer her, he wouldn't wake, he wouldn't tell her to stay. He was gone from the world for the next few hours, and nothing she could do would change that fact.

She nearly cried. She so very badly needed to know what he had wanted to say. The thought that she had to go nearly strangled her.

But a few minutes ago the sun had come up. Their time together was over.