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Wicked Game	By : soldiersgirl0709 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 12660 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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- 1-Wicked Game
- 1
     Wicked Game

                                                By: Snapes_Goddess

What a wicked game you play, To make me feel this way. What a wicked thing to do

To let me dream of you…

She moved through the crowd with a grace unlike anything he had ever seen. She was light on her feet, the soles of her shoes barely making a sound on the highly polished floor. He felt like a stalker. Oh hell, who was he trying to fool, he was a stalker. He had been following her for weeks now. Ever since the night she had danced into his dreams and buried herself deep into his psyche.

He had barely spared her a thought in the years following the war, had spoken to her less than a dozen times when they had crossed paths. Maybe that was why the dream had affected him so. He didn’t often have erotic dreams, and he certainly did not have them about former students. He had never had a dream so powerful, so vivid that he had found it difficult to discern the difference between the dream and reality. It was so powerful that he found himself obsessed with the experience and consequently, with her.

It had been a strange twist of fate that the day following the dream they crossed paths in a small shop near a wizarding village in Switzerland. He could actually feel the warmth of her smile from across the room and had been helpless to do anything but return it. Her stunned expression at his cordial greeting had been telling, he wasn’t exactly a friendly man. The odd behavior had pricked her curiosity and he quickly found himself face to face with the young woman.

Normally he avoided being pulled into conversations with women. They tended to prattle on about things he cared nothing about but within moments he was engaged in a verbal exchange with the witch as they meandered about the shop side by side. She didn’t speak of trivial things like he expected. They spoke of politics and changes in their community and for just a brief moment she touched on her personal life enough for him to realize that she was single and his obsession bloomed.

From that moment he had sought her out, making a point to attend events that he had snubbed for years, venturing into wizarding establishments more often than he actually needed to all because he knew she would be there. He didn’t approach her, half the time she didn’t even know he was there. Instead he clung to the shadows, dancing along the outskirts of the crowd watching her and for the first time in decades feeling.

As she slipped through a large set of double doors and out into the night he remained puzzled by his obsession. It was a dream. A silly dream brought on by too many years of pushing everyone away, too many nights spent alone. Why her? Why had his brain dragged her from his memory?

Her shoes clicked rhythmically on the pavement as she made her way to the familiar building where she lived in a small flat on the fourth floor. He knew it well having followed her there several times already. It was the third door on the right past the elevator, the one with the crooked welcome sign dangling from a hook and a pretty floral mat on the floor.   She never took the lift, always opting for the short trek up the stairs instead. He didn’t complain, it made it easier to follow her.

Up the stairs he followed, pausing for a few moments before cresting each landing to be certain that she was far enough ahead of him not to notice that he pursued her. Just long enough to breathe in the lingering scent of her perfume. He listened for the door to open on the fourth floor and then waited for several breaths, long enough for her to have reached her flat and opened the door, before he stepped out into the hall and made the journey to her door as he had so many times before.

It was the same pattern night after night. Watch her, follow her home, linger outside her door and wonder when he became such a sad shadow of a man that he was reduced to stalking a much a younger woman in his spare time. As he reached her door his pattern was disrupted when he found it standing wide open and saw her standing inside with her back to him as she placed her clutch and her keys on a round entry table in the center of her foyer.

“Will you be joining me tonight, Professor?” she asked softly as slipped her shoes off and curled her toes into the plush rug beneath her feet. “Or do you plan to linger in the hallway like a ghost?”

He inhaled deeply through his nose, a warm tingle trailing down his spine as he realized that his stalking had not been as covert as he had thought. Perhaps he was losing his touch for espionage? He stepped forward until he was standing just inside her doorway, watching as she glanced over her shoulder at him while she let her hair down from the clip holding it in place.

“Lock the door, won’t you?” she asked walking away from him and deeper into the flat. He moved cautiously, almost wondering if he had actually gone around the bend and lost his mind completely. He closed the door and turned the lock, listening to the soft snick as the bolt slid into place then slowly edged towards the main section of the flat. The soft glow of a flickering fire was like a beacon guiding him to her. As if he needed it, he seemed to be strangely tuned to the witch and could find her in a crowd of thousands easily enough.

When he reached the comfortable interior of her home he found her standing near a window. She held the sheer draperies aloft as she watched the snowflakes dancing through the air onto the street below. He found himself entranced by her profile. The softness of her features, the gentle curves of her lips, the jut of her chin, the way her hair curled around her ear. He shouldn’t notice. Normally he wouldn’t notice but lately nothing in his life was as it ordinarily was. One little dream had turned it upside down. A dream he still didn’t understand.

“You have been following me for weeks, Professor,” she said quietly. “Why?”

“Severus,” he said hoarsely. He winced at the sound of his voice and cleared his throat. “Call me Severus, not Professor” Please don’t call me professor, it makes these feelings seem so much worse.

“Fine….Severus, why have you been following me,” she asked again.

“I don’t know,” he answered. It was the truth; he really didn’t know why he followed her, only that he couldn’t stop himself.

“Do you need to talk to me about something? Do you need my help?” she asked. She let the sheers fall back into place and turned to face him, leaning back against the wall with her hands behind her and her palms flat against the painted surface.

“No,” he said, his brow furrowing. He never thought he would have to explain himself to her. He never thought she would figure out that he followed her.

“There must be some reason, Severus, you aren’t a man who does anything without a reason,” she said, pushing away from the wall and walking towards him. “Do you fear for my safety?”

“No.” He barely managed to get the single word response out without his voice cracking as the witch stopped inches away from him.

“Do you want to ask me out?” She asked, her head tilted to the side and a little smile tugging the corners of her lips. He swallowed hard, his eyes shifting back and forth. Was that what he wanted? “I wish you would,” she said softly, moving incrementally closer until barely an inch remained between them.

“Ms. Granger, I..”

“Hermione,” she corrected lightly. “Do you want to kiss me, Severus?”

Did he? Was that why he followed her so relentlessly? Did he want her? It had been so long since he had kissed a woman, since he had wanted to taste another’s lips that he had forgotten what it was like.

“I-I don’t know, it’s been so long I am not sure I even remember how,” he said. His voice was soft, slightly raspy as he held himself stiffly in front of her, waiting.

“Well, how about we give you a little pop quiz to see?” She reached for him carefully so as not to startle him, looping one arm loosely around his neck and pressing herself against him. She brought her other hand up and lightly stroked his jaw for a second before lifting onto her toes to gently press her lips to his.

Her lips were soft and warm against his stiff and cold ones. He didn’t respond to her right away, shock kept him standing still but it didn’t deter her. Her lips moved gently against his, brushing back and forth again and again until his mouth softened and opened slightly. He gasped when the tip of her tongue tapped against the center of his bottom lip and then flicked lightly at the top one before wiggling between to the interior of his mouth.

His hesitance seemed to melt away the moment he felt her tongue tickling against his. Suddenly it was as if all his doubts and frustrations from the previous two weeks had lifted. THIS was what he had wanted, THIS was why he had followed her. He parted his lips further and joined the kiss, no longer a passive participant but a fully cooperating partner. The witch moaned into his mouth and her arm tightened around his neck. The hand that was resting lightly at the side of his neck tunneled into his hair and the kiss deepened for several moments before she wrenched her lips away to draw in much needed oxygen.

“I would say you earn an O, that was definitely outstanding,” she panted softly. He licked his lips and savored the faint flavor of her still clinging to them. “So…have you decided? Was that what you wanted? Did you follow me because you wanted to kiss me?” She released her grip in his hair and slid her hand down his nape and over his shoulder until her hand rested on the center of his chest, her fingers toying with his buttons.

“Yes…I want to kiss you,” he whispered, his head swimming.

“Only kiss me?” She taunted him, rubbing her nose against his. “Or do you want to do more?” She began to slowly edge her palm down over his abdomen, skimming lower until she could slide her hand beneath his jacket and feel the long column of flesh straining against the front placket of his trousers. He grunted in surprise, the shocked sound quickly turning into a pleasured groan.

“Ahh…what is happening here?” He managed to ask as she nibbled his bottom lip and along his jaw-line. His erection pulsed, twitching against her palm through the woolen trousers.

“Oh my, that certainly isn’t your wand,” she chuckled against the side of his throat. She stroked him through the fabric, squeezing the rigid flesh gently. “This is what you really want.”

“I don’t know,” he gasped, fighting the urge to push his erection further into her grasp.

“I know,” she whispered, her hot breath tickling his ear before she took the tender lobe between her teeth. “You have been following me for weeks now, lingering outside my door, watching me from the shadows…you don’t know why, but I know. You want me.”

“A little arrogant aren’t we?” he managed hoarsely.

“It isn’t arrogance if it’s true,” she replied. She released her hold on his throbbing cock and took a step back, putting a little space between them. She tilted her head to the side and observed him carefully. His pale skin was flushed with arousal, his dark eyes glassy and his lips slack as he tried to control his breathing. It was a heady feeling to know that this man wanted her, this fantastically brilliant yet untouchable man desired her. He was watching her with a combination of desire and wariness. He was waiting for the ‘trick’, she realized. He was waiting for her to do or say something to hurt him, to reject him, to cause him pain and humiliation.

That realization made her throat clog with emotion but just as quickly as it came she shoved it aside. Pity had no place between them, not this night. Hermione reached behind her and slowly began to draw down the zip on her dress. As the garment grew slack on her slender frame she shrugged her shoulders and let it slide down her arms before pushing it over her hips to pool on the floor at her feet. She stood in front of him wearing very simple, flesh colored bra and knickers.

She thought briefly that had she known he would be seeing her naked tonight that she would have worn something prettier, but the hot look in his eyes at her simple cotton underwear quashed such thoughts rather quickly. She waited, expecting him to move towards her, but he just stood there, looking at her with heat in his eyes that she could almost feel.

“Your turn,” she said softly.

“You don’t really want that,” he said self-consciously. “You are…lovely. I am not, you do not really wish to see me.”

“Thank you,” she said, moving back to stand in front of him. “And you are wrong; I absolutely DO want to see you.” She moved slowly for fear that he would turn and leave before she could find out just what kind of passion lay smoldering beneath his cold, unfeeling façade. She reached for the frog closure just beneath his chin and carefully removed his heavy cloak. She tossed it across the room so that it draped over the back of her sofa. She let her fingertips glide over the line of his jaw, enjoying the slight roughness of his beard coming in.

He stiffened as her fingers touched the pink, puckered flesh of scar tissue peeking above his collar but he didn’t pull away. He endured her touch even though it clearly made him uncomfortable. Next her fingers found the long row of wool covered buttons that ran the length of his jacket. He held his breath as she slid the disk through each hole, releasing it as her fingers danced down to the next one. Soon she was pushing the garment back and off of his shoulders, her lips almost touching his, sharing his breath as the heavy coat slid down his arms and dropped—forgotten—to the floor.

The highly starched white shirt that he wore felt crisp beneath her fingers, the button at the collar difficult to manipulate. She was surprised when her fingers were pushed out of the way and his long, dexterous digits assumed the task. Within seconds his shirt was open and he was jerking the tails from his trousers. She on the other hand was threading her fingers through the silky black pelt of hair covering his chest.

He moaned, his eyes closing and his lips drawing tight in response to her touch. His arms caught in his shirt and with a sharp jerk the buttons at the cuff pinged across the hardwood floor, the shirt quickly joining his discarded jacket. Hermione had to smile at his eagerness. She pressed her lips to the small cleft in his chin and dragged her tongue down along his throat. Her tongue danced over his Adam’s apple and played in the hollow beneath it.

Severus could no longer be a passive participant, his hands found the slight curve of her waist, followed the smooth skin down, around her hips to the lush pillows of her buttocks. He filled his hands with her flesh, pulled her against him, rubbed her against the aching hardness straining against his trousers.

Hermione curled her fingers and raked her nails lightly down the center of his chest, noting the shiver that ran through him and the way that his hands tightened on her rear.

“Are you still going to deny it?” she asked softly, pressing her breasts snug against his chest as her hands slid along the slender plane of his abdomen. She felt his stomach clench, going concave for just a moment as he reacted. Her fingers found the wool covered buttons that held the fall of his trousers closed and deftly plucked them open until the material fell away and her hand could slide unencumbered inside. Crisp cotton boxer shorts impeded her exploration but with a little determined wandering her fingers soon slid beneath the elastic and her hand wrapped firmly around the treasure that she sought.

“NO…no more denial…I want you, Hermione, I want you very much,” he rasped, his cock leaping and throbbing in her grasp.

“I want you too,” she whispered softly against his ear before taking the tender lobe gently between her teeth. She continued to stroke him as she nibbled her way along the tightly chorded line of his neck, her hand taking measure of his length from root to tip. The slit at the tip wept hot, slippery drops of fluid that she spread over the sensitive skin with her fingertips. Hermione enjoyed the little gasps and stifled grunts of pleasure that her touch wrought. She felt powerful and in control.



            She released his penis and took a step back from him. She made certain that their eyes connected and held as she pushed his trousers and boxers down over his slender hips. Hermione went to her knees before him and continued to drag his clothing downward. Most women would feel submissive on their knees looking up, but not her. She knew that she was in the position of power, that the man looking down at her and caressing the top of her head was hers to do with as she pleased.

            Hermione found the short zipper on the inside of his leather half-boots and pulled it down, repeating the motion on the other one. She removed one and tossed it aside, directing him to step out of his trousers and shorts before removing the thin black sock before moving to the other side and repeating her instructions until he stood before her, naked as the day he was born. She remained on her knees, her hands sliding up the backs of his legs, her nails raking gently across the sensitive skin until she reached his buttocks.

            He was slim, but fit, his buttocks small and tight in her hands as she kneaded the clenched flesh. Her lips twitched with a restrained smile as he trembled beneath her hands. She licked her lips and leaned forward, pressing them against the tight flesh of his sac. She felt his testes bounce within their protective covering and heard his rough exhalation of breath above her. She looked up, her gaze firmly affixed to his and dragged her tongue slowly, torturously, up his length. He was panting by the time she reached the tip of his cock as it came free of his foreskin.

“Hermione…” he choked out her name, his hands fisting in her hair as he shook. Her heart began to pound, her blood racing through her veins as she wrapped one hand around this erect shaft and closed her lips around his tip, swallowing him as deeply as she could in one motion. The guttural sound of his response was like an encouragement spell washing over her. She sucked, stroked, licked and nibbled on the turgid erection like a woman starved. She took him deep, stroking his dick with her mouth and her tightly fisted hand, tasting the salty/sweet fluid that leaked from his tip as she pleasured him.

            She knew the power she wielded in that moment and she was drunk on it. She had known men, had enjoyed them, but maybe none as much as she was enjoying the one now threatening to spill into her mouth at any moment. Perhaps it was some sick and twisted thrill at the taboo nature of having sex with a teacher that drove her, or perhaps it was something more, some dark side of her nature that pushed her, but whatever it was it had her soaked and throbbing between her thighs.

            She let his erection slip free of her lips with an audible ‘pop’ as the suction broke and then pressed her lips against the tight, lightly furred flesh of his stomach just below his navel. The clench of his abdominal muscles beneath her lips was rewarding as she climbed slowly to her feet, dropping little wet kisses all over his torso as she went.

Hermione turned slowly, presenting him with her back and looking over her shoulder at him.

“Undress me,” she said seductively.

            Severus’s hands shook as he reached out for the clasp of the brassiere. It took a couple of tries, but eventually the hooks gave way and he was able to touch the smooth skin of her back without impediment. Hermione rolled her shoulders, sliding the thin straps down and off of her arms, dropping the garment into the increasing pile of clothes at their feet.

“Follow me,” she said. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she turned down a corridor wearing nothing but her small cotton briefs. Follow her? How could he do anything else? He was mesmerized by her. She was soft, sweet, clean and for some strange reason she seemed to genuinely want him. Him. He would follow her anywhere at that moment.

            She led him into a surprisingly large bedroom for a flat. An expansive bed took up the center of the room, covered in satin bed linens in muted shades of ivory, blue and brown. Her bed faced a wall of windows that looked out over the city of London. One wall held a double wardrobe and the other a mirrored chest. He could see that there was an en suite on the other side of the room, but he was quickly distracted from his sight seeing by the little witch carefully turning down the blankets on her bed. He could see her reflected in the mirror on her dresser, could see the heavy weight of her bare breasts moving as she folded the blankets back for the two of them.

            Hermione looked up into the mirror, her eyes catching his in the reflection. She smiled and stood up straight, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. She turned slowly, baring herself to him, letting him look his fill at her breasts. Severus couldn’t look away. She was lovely…a goddess come to life and for some strange reason she was willing to let him touch her. He stood in the doorway, just staring at her, until she stepped towards him and took his hands. She pulled him towards the bed until she could sit on the edge of the mattress and lean back, supporting herself on her hands behind her as her breasts jutted forward in a blatant plea for him to touch.

            Severus reached out tentatively, only letting his fingertips slide over the creamy globes of flesh. He watched her nipples draw tight, darken and pucker at his touch.

“More,” she encouraged him, arching so that her breasts pushed into his hand. He cupped her then, gently kneading and molding her breasts with his hands. Her nipples pebbled against his palm, aching for him to soothe them. “Use your mouth, Severus…suck them,” she demanded.

            She brought one hand up to clasp the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to lower his head. He lightly tongued one nipple while he manipulated the other with his fingers. He licked, laved and then suckled the tender flesh, switching between her breasts until she was whimpering and moaning beneath him. Slowly she laid back on the bed, holding him tight against her breasts as he sucked.

“Take it all off,” she said, pushing his head away from her. “The knickers…remove them.”

            Severus was hungry for her. He was so hard that it hurt, so primed for release that he feared he might spill himself like a green boy with his first woman at the sight of her sex. But, nothing could stop him from sliding the flesh colored cotton down over her hips and thighs, over her feet and tossing them, forgotten, behind him. Entirely naked at last, Hermione shifted backwards onto the bed, resting in the center of the dark brown sheets. She planted her feet on the mattress and let her knees fall to the side, opening her sex to his hungry gaze.

“My gods,” he breathed, drawn to the pink, glistening flesh like a moth to a flame. He came to the edge of the bed and reached out without conscious thought of what he was doing. He touched the tight, swollen bud at the top of her slit with a gentle finger, flicking it back and forth before circling it and dipping lower into the clasping opening of her vagina. She was wet, slippery and hot. The heady scent of her arousal was sweet, musky and utterly intoxicating.

“Kiss me…here,” she whispered huskily. She slid her fingers down over her belly, through the downy curls at her crux to the puffy lips of her sex, spreading them to reveal all of her dewy pink secrets.

“Yes,” he replied, kneeling on the bed and putting his mouth to her quim. She squealed with delight as his long, agile tongue traversed the sensitive folds and grooves of her sex. He left no inch of her pussy untouched as he went at her with voracious need. He wanted to be drunk on the honey pouring from her, wanted to taste her so deeply that he would never get the taste of her out of his mouth and memory. His tongue circled, flicked, licked and penetrated her quivering flesh until she could no longer stand the delicious torture.

“Make me come,” she demanded, arching her hips against his mouth, her hands fisted in his hair. “Please…” Severus could only obey her passionate demands by fastening his lips gently around the pulsing clit and suckling while gently rimming her opening with the tip of his finger. “Oh god….YES!” Hermione screamed, her back arching as she convulsed and writhed beneath his tongue. She held him to her, refusing to let him back off until the last tremor of bliss rippled through her.

“Oh, Severus,” she sighed, her fingers finally relaxing their grip on his hair as she fell limp against the sheets. “Come here,” she ordered, pulling on his shoulders so that he moved up to lie between her thighs. “Are you ready for me? Is this what you want?” she asked softly, reaching between them to rub the tip of his erection against her still pulsating opening.

“Yes…but only if you want it too…I don’t want your pity,” he said, wincing at his words.

“Did it feel as if I pitied you when you had your face buried between my thighs?” she asked. “Did it feel as if I pitied you when you were fucking my mouth?” She lifted her hips, taking the spongy tip of his cock inside her warmth. “Does this feel like pity to you?”

            Severus nearly wept at the pleasure of her vagina closing around the sensitive head of his cock. As her slippery heat bathed the length of his shaft he stopped caring whether or not it was a pity fuck, all he cared about was the fact that the witch was hot, willing and wet and for whatever reason she was allowing him to bury himself inside her balls deep.

“Ugh…witch,” he groaned, sliding his turgid shaft in and out of her clasping, scalding flesh. It felt so good…too good. He wanted it to last forever but there was no way he was going to make it beyond a few good thrusts. He was too aroused, too primed, too drunk on the lust inspired by the little witch.

“Fuck me…hard,” she whispered against his lips. She wrapped her legs around his waist and raked her nails down his sweaty back. He didn’t need to be told twice. The room echoed with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, of the slippery, sucking sounds of cock and vagina coming together. Hermione’s orgasm at his tongue was so strong that she knew she wouldn’t come again, but she needed—wanted—to feel Severus lose control in her arms, she wanted him to come, wanted him to give himself over to the pleasure, to give himself over to her.

“Hermione…” he said her name hoarsely, like a question.

“Fill me up, Severus…come inside me,” she said hotly against his ear. “Now.”

“Arghhhh!” Severus threw his head back and thrust hard and deep, so deep that Hermione whimpered at the near painful shift of her cervix. Stream after stream of pent up lust jettisoned into the witch, filling her as she requested. Severus shook his arms barely able to hold his weight as all of his strength was siphoned through this erection. Never had he known such intensity in an orgasm. He felt drained, exhausted, excited and complete.

            Hermione wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down to rest atop her. She stroked his back and shoulders as he struggled to right his breathing. He lay there, recovering as his erection softened and eventually slipped from her body. Severus rolled away from her, lying on his back beside her. Was he allowed to stay there? Was he supposed to get up and leave?

            Hermione answered his question when she rolled over and snuggled up beside him. She laid her head on his shoulder, her hand resting on the center of his chest. She smiled, a soft, sleepy sound slipping from her lips as she got comfortable.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“It was better than my dreams,” she said.

“Your dreams?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

“Oh yes, I have been dreaming of you since I was old enough to know what desire felt like,” she said, yawning. “This surpassed them all, Severus.”

            Severus turned his head, the angle awkward, and stared at the witch falling asleep in his arms.

Always full of surprises.

She was dangerous in ways he never dreamed, and better than he ever dreamed.

What a wicked thing to do…to make me dream of you….and I don’t want to fall in love…with you.

Wicked Game Lyrics by Chris Isaak
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Wicked Game