Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Release	By : ChaosSpider Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Het - Male/Female Views: 4252 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Release - Oneshot
- 1
Clink.
Clink.
Severus Snape glared at the antique grandfather clock, ticking across the dimly lit room.
11:05.
In his pale hand, a tumbler of firewhiskey rocked from one side to the other, a perfectly spherical ball of ice rolling in the amber liquid.
Clink.
The chime of the ice against crystal and the beat of the heavy pendulum synchronised; a sound that usually brought him peace in the late hours of the night, giving order to his unquiet thoughts. Tonight was different. Tonight, he was perturbed.
Sprawled on a worn green leather armchair, he brought the tumbler to his forehead, resting the chilled glass against his skin. One dark eye lazily inspected the contents, the other obscured by a curtain of silky black hair. As if to imitate the disarray in his mind, Snape’s crisp white dress shirt hung open almost to the waist, a single bead of sweat trailing down his pale chest. He wanted to believe that the warm July night was the cause of the heat coursing through him, accentuated by numerous measures of firewhiskey. He knew better, eyes sliding towards the clock again.
11:24.
Snapping up from his seat with purpose, he strode over to his orderly desk and grabbed a sheet of parchment, sending the remainder of the pile tumbling. Black quill in hand, he scribbled irritably in deep green ink, blotting, folding, and sealing the hurried note. The awaiting owl was not at all pleased to have been awoken so rudely but swooped gracefully out of the open window, nevertheless.
He raised his glass to his lips once more, draining it as he mulled over the note’s contents.
Along with his address, it read: -
Come at once.
Pouring another glass of the fiery spirit, he glanced at the clock again.
11.36.
Clink.

Earlier that day, Snape had strayed into a local pub - the dark and dingy Wyvern’s Head. He didn’t frequent such establishments regularly, but the balmy summer’s day had left his home in Spinner’s End stuffy and uncomfortable. The boredom of summer holidays was another matter entirely. He pined for his blissfully cool dungeons at Hogwarts, though his mood soured at the thought of his students. Thank Merlin that there were still weeks to go before he had to bear their idiotic company once more.
Despite the snug conditions, the small pub was cool and dimly lit; Snape felt immediately comfortable. Sliding into a shadowy corner, he ordered a firewhiskey with ice and opened a book, using it as an excuse to avoid socialising with the hopeful barkeep, who had perked up at the sight of a new face. The book was also sufficiently specialist that it would deter polite inquiries should anyone wrongly assume that the brooding potions master was up for a chat.
Or so he thought.
A few chapters into his book and half a glass of whiskey down, Snape noted the peal of the bell above the door signalling the entrance of another patron. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have bothered to look up, but an intriguing scent drifted his way, musky and alluring like night-blooming flowers. His dark eyes slid upwards and came to rest upon the voluptuous figure of a woman with olive skin and long, dark hair. She crossed the room confidently, hips swaying beneath her midnight blue cape, the lightweight fabric of her dress flowing over the hourglass curves of her body like water trickling over pebbles. Forcing himself to return to his book, he overheard her order red wine, her voice dripping like honey.
The woman set herself down a few tables away from him, pulling a quill and parchment from a battered leather satchel, then sliding a pair of dark-framed spectacles onto her nose. Despite himself, Snape’s gaze kept slipping away from his book, his eyes seemingly intent on studying the way she ran a long, pointed fingernail around the rim of her wine glass. As if to distract himself, he tossed back a large mouthful of his neglected drink.
Clink.
The glass made contact with the table a little harder than he intended, and Snape felt the collective eyes of the pub shift in his direction. An icy glare fired over the top of his book sent the curious gazes on their way. Well, all but one, which held his glare steadily, an amused smirk playing on her deep red lips before breaking eye contact.
Just what exactly did she find so amusing? he raged silently, flipping the page with quiet fury.
Forcing himself to concentrate, Snape was back in the book’s thrall after a few long minutes - an hour or so passing comfortably without incident. He was grateful for the cool air radiating from the heavy bricks beside him and the burning warmth of the cheap whiskey. As the sun neared the horizon, the arrangement of candles on his table flickered into life, bathing the potions master in a warm, hazy glow.
“Enjoying your book?” A syrupy voice unexpectedly interrupted his reading, bringing about a trademark scowl. “Personally, I found it rather dull.”
“Is there something I can do for you?” he said coldly with a forced politeness that was anything but.
A fresh glass of firewhiskey was placed in front of him, ice cubes jingling together.
Clink.
“I thought you could do with another” the woman replied playfully, easing into a seat opposite him. The dark frames of her glasses had slipped down her nose slightly and she peered over the top of them coquettishly, dark eyes accentuated dramatically with shadowy makeup. The enchanting floral scent lingered heavily in the warm air, but he fought the urge to breathe it in deeply.
“That was unnecessary. And I am perfectly satisfied with my book, thank you,” he curtly replied. Convivial small talk was not his thing.
“Well I am so very pleased that you are enjoying it,” she grinned, sipping her wine. He scowled at the way he was drawn to those glistening burgundy lips. She seemed to be enjoying his reactions immensely, which irritated him.
“If there is nothing further, please leave,” he replied coldly. Having to be so direct with his rebuff was infuriating, especially since his students would run a mile at the slightest indication that he was annoyed. This woman seemed totally impervious to even the most obvious deterrent.
“No, I don’t think I will,” she laughed, dark eyes glittering with mischief. “I’m not sure why yet, but I find you really rather fascinating.”
“Is that some kind of joke?” What could she possibly mean by that? His guard was up, brows knitted together and jaw tense. She looked almost offended by his defensive outburst, but then shrugged and continued.
“I have this penchant for recognising others with similar… interests, you see. I have no reason to play games with you or anything like that. I just wanted to get your attention.”
He scoffed but at the same time studied her closely, still not convinced that this wasn’t some elaborate scheme to make him appear a fool. A woman like that didn’t need to work for attention, nor were they inclined to seek it from someone like Snape. Her ink-stained fingers fiddled with her hair, the shade of which he noticed was unclear, shining blue, green, and purple in the dim light, like oil-slick on water. Surreptitiously, she slid a piece of parchment towards him across the scuffed table.
Unwittingly, he looked down at the paper and his breath caught in his throat. Upon the page was a series of inky sketches of the potions master, exquisitely rendered despite the unsightliness of the model. She had captured his face in profile as the waning sunlight streamed through the window beside him, a close-up of his mysterious dark eyes, his hand wrapped gracefully around the cut-glass tumbler. Each drawing was beautiful, captivating.
Bringing himself back to his senses, he finally accepted the new glass of firewhiskey, letting the smooth spirit burn down his throat slowly; she’d bought the good stuff. He regarded her carefully as she nonchalantly topped up her wine; she was desirable in a sumptuous sort of way, silky and inviting, but with a hint of darkness. That mystery was intriguing but also kept him wary.
“So, what is this? Some sort of eyes-across-the-room nonsense? Love at first sight?” he spat sarcastically, each word dripping with disdain. She laughed again, tilting her head to one side, dark waves of hair tumbling over an exposed shoulder. Somewhere along the way, her cloak had been abandoned.
“Who said anything about love? An attraction needn’t end in wedding bells.” A seductive smile glimmered on her lips in an almost predatory manner. He stared, taken aback by her candour. “Sometimes, all you really need is a little pleasure. A release, you might say.”
He snorted with derision, catching her meaning immediately. His appetites were not usually suited to one-night stands.
“And if this release is not what you expect?”
“I have no expectation, just anticipation.”
“And if the outcome is oppressive, loveless, perhaps even violent?” His eyes narrowed threateningly, his hand gripping the glass until his knuckles were white. Heat began to smoulder within him, but he forced it down, knowing the flames would not ignite.
She looked at him, then shifted in her seat and reached for her bag. He sneered, triumphant but also a touch disappointed.
Instead of leaving though, she pushed a second sheet of parchment across the table, this time blank. Touching it lightly with her wand, ribbons of ink spidered out of the tip and across the page to reveal new illustrations. The style was consistent but very different in content. He swallowed hard as erotic scenes assaulted his sensibilities. The same elegant hand that clasped the whiskey tumbler was now wrapped around a swan-like throat. His cold eyes raking over the form of a prostrating lover. His mouth pressed against a bitemark-blemished breast. Her gaze burned into him as Snape examined each illustration, a searing heat rising inside him that could simultaneously have been embarrassment, rage, and arousal.
“All actions are violent to a greater or lesser extent,” she said in a low, dangerous voice. “It’s your choice. If you want to release.”
She rose from her chair as he watched, his cold stare sliding over every curve before returning to her face. She smiled knowingly, fully aware of what she had awoken in him and it only increased his fury further. He started to push the parchment back towards her, but she held up a hand.
“Keep them. A gift if you like. They may be of some use to you.”
And she left.
Snape cursed under his breath, unable to stop himself from examining the images once again. The chilly bricks provided no comfort this time; the heat he felt was raging internally and showed no signs of subsiding. A cough from across the room reminded the potions master of where he was, quickly pulling his wand from his robes and touching the pages to conceal the images once more. He paused as he reached to pick up the parchment, noticing that the enchanted sheet wasn’t completely blank.
An address.
Of use to me indeed! The paper crumpled in his fist as he let out a long, deep breath.
Through the adjacent window, the sky looked heavy and brooding, promising a summer storm. Gathering his book and cloak, he considered leaving the pages behind, then thought better of it, choosing instead to tuck them inside the leather-bound volume. He raised the tumbler to his lips once more and drained the glass, slamming it onto the deserted bar as he swept by.
Clink.

11:59.
Thunder boomed in the heavens and the metallic tang of ozone filled the air. Snape wondered if the tell-tale crack of apparition would be masked by the rumblings. The grandfather clock struck midnight and began its monotone chimes, just as he heard a gentle rapping at his front door.
He stalked down the hallway, his mind swimming; what on earth had he been thinking when he scrawled that note so desperately? He reached uneasily for the handle, slowly drawing it open before holding a hand out to the figure waiting on his doorstep. Raindrops rolled onto his palm as she placed her hand in his and entered. No sooner had the door closed, he’d pushed her up against it, a leg pressed in between hers, a slim wrist pinned above her head.
“I wondered if you would send for me,” she said, her voice low and sweet, looking up at him.
“Quiet,” he demanded, tightening his grip and kneading his leg against her. A whimper escaped her lips before his mouth was on hers, hungry and urgent, a kiss of lip-bruising intensity. Her mouth tasted like wine and dark chocolate, addictively indulgent.
“Your name?” he asked, breaking the kiss.
“A secret,” she teased. “Call me what you please, I am yours tonight.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. Discretion would indeed be prudent.
“As you wish,” he conceded, noting how her breath hitched at the sound of his voice.
He deftly released the clasp of her cloak, the material flowing like liquid mercury as it hit the floor. The freshly exposed skin of her neck and shoulders was too tempting to ignore; he ravaged the flesh, sucking, kissing, and biting, leaving angry red marks in his wake. He felt her hand slide inside his unbuttoned shirt, those long, pointed nails he had so admired now raking over his bare skin leaving marks of their own.
Composing himself, Snape pulled away looking coldly down his nose at her. She was panting, breasts flushed and heaving inside her dress. When their eyes met, a delicious shiver coursed through her body; he could feel her heat through both sets of clothes and the pounding of her pulse in her wrist.
She likes this. She wants this.
Staring up at him breathless, she bit her lip, not saying a word. Waiting.
“Good girl,” he purred, running his thumb over her lower lip, smearing her lipstick before kissing her again, this time deeply.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
It was breath-taking.
His hands slipped around her waist, fingers drifting over the fabric of her dress and the supple curves beneath. He ached to feel her heated skin, making quick work of the garment’s fastenings before it too slipped to the floor. Her skin was so soft that he wanted to tear into it. Instead, he let his feathery touch move downwards, caressing the lace of her lingerie before finally coming to rest on her behind. The flesh was so… ripe that he could barely stand it, digging his fingers in and earning a husky moan that set him aflame again. Brusquely, he spun her, face pressed against the door as his hands roughly grasped her breasts, grinding against that succulent arse.
“You understand you will be taking full responsibility for your actions tonight?” he murmured directly into her ear. She gasped, goosebumps rising all over her exposed skin. “Well?”
“Yes… yes, Sir,” she breathed, her voice quivering with desire.
Sir. Yes. That is fitting.
He caressed her breasts with approval, fingers sliding unashamedly inside the lace. Finding her nipples erect and sensitive, the pads of his fingertips brushed against them roughly. The effect was very pleasing; she arched and moaned, pushing herself harder against him, her thighs squeezing together in arousal.
“Do control yourself,” he said sternly, forcing her legs apart with one of his own. She, and her pleasure, belonged to him tonight and he would make sure that she knew it. Whimpering, her tense body desperately fought the urge to grind against the leg that had spread her open. His own erection was straining in his trousers, hot and throbbing against her bottom.
Taking a handful of her silken hair, Snape pulled her head back for another hungry kiss before leading her to his study. She waited patiently by the walnut desk as he manoeuvred his green armchair in front of it. The last few raindrops fell from her raven hair onto her shoulders and chest, the candlelight catching each bead before dissolving into the fabric of her provocative, black lingerie. He pressed his body against hers, forcing her to back up to the desk as he leaned down to whisper in her ear before taking his seat.
“Show me everything.” His velvet voice sent shivers through her.
Without an ounce of hesitation, she crawled onto the desk seductively, her curves rolling with every movement. Once in position, her fingers started to move over her body, sliding the straps of her bra down before reaching behind to unfasten it. The luxurious lace fell to the floor, revealing soft, full breasts with dark, pert nipples. She grazed them with her nails, biting her lip again, her neck flushed with both pleasure and the thrill of being watched.
Snape reclined languidly in the chair, legs apart, chin resting on his fingers. His face was unreadable, but the bulge between his legs spoke volumes.
“Continue,” he drawled, fully aware that his voice aroused her.
Those long fingernails slipped under the waistband of her lacy knickers, sliding them over her hips painfully slowly. She drew her knees up together as the fabric manoeuvred from beneath her and over her thighs, gravity taking them the rest of the way until they hung provocatively around her ankles. Reaching around, she slipped one stilettoed foot out, then the other, and let the garment join its counterpart on the floor. Pausing for a few excruciating seconds, she leant back and spread her legs wide for him. The potion master’s cold eyes silently scanned every inch of her body. He could tell how aroused she was, the wetness glistening on her skin.
Snape lent forward in his chair, his hot whiskey-tinged breath drifting over the flesh between her legs. A finger lightly slid over her clitoris and along her labia, triggering a sharp intake of breath. He continued to tease, fingers probing only deep enough to keep her on edge. A frustrated whimper escaped her lips and before she knew it, he was standing over her, one hand around her throat, the other delving deep inside, fingers expertly and relentlessly hitting every sweet spot. Her moans of ecstasy were stifled by the hand pressing against her windpipe, allowing only a few strangled gasps to pass through. His thumb circled her clit in time to each thrust of his fingers, sending her mind blank. A deep voice brought her back to her senses.
“You may not orgasm until I allow it.”
Her eyes widened and he could feel that she was close, but the pressure around her throat increased to remind her who was in control. His fingers hammered inside, twisting and writhing, bringing her to the brink so many times she could barely stand it. Beads of liquid gushed out with each piston-like movement, her body wet with sweat and her own fluids.
Pushing a third finger inside, he felt her walls tighten around him, already pulsing and raw from his brutal attack. He hunted for the sweetest spot, feeling her become even wetter once he’d found it, the vibrations of her moans straining against his other hand. Her whole body was tense, shaking with the effort of holding back.
Yes, there it is.
“Come,” he ordered, releasing his grip on her throat but continuing his assault deep inside. Her moans were loud and laboured, her entire body shuddering with pleasure as wave after wave hit, juices coating his fingers. He could feel every internal throb, so hot, tight and wet. Snape slowly withdrew, leaving her trembling and gasping for air as he took his seat once again.
“Turn around.”
Shaking, she slid off the desk and bent over the surface. Her back curved sensually, making a perfect heart-shape with her bottom and thighs, a visible trail glistening down her legs. He placed a hand on each cheek, the quivering of her orgasm still evident through the fingertips digging into flesh. The action revealed her twitching holes, gleaming with her juices. Surprising even himself, he ran his tongue over them, savouring the flavour of her pleasure, before diving deep inside. She cried out, sensitive and throbbing, but that did not stop the wetness from flowing once more. Buried between her legs, he gorged himself as she moaned helplessly, tightly clutching the desk.
Her body spasmed with surprise when his tongue slid upwards and then back again, swiping over her tight, puckered anus and along the cleft of her arse. Taking her brazen moans as consent, Snape flicked his tongue around the rim before forcing his way inside, the tight muscles contracting with arousal. His hands roughly kneaded her flesh as he tongued her, his chin wet with her essence.
“Fuck,” she whispered, forgetting herself.
He drew away, raising a hand and bringing it down hard on her arse, a florid red handprint blooming on the satiny skin. Twice more he struck, each smack eliciting a sound half-way between a moan and a whimper.
“Down on your knees,” he instructed.
Pulling a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, he reclined back in his chair, wiping his mouth.
She dropped down between his legs, her feverish gaze meeting his expectantly, mascara starting to bleed down her face. He liked the view; it made him harder than he had been in a long time, especially at the thought of being between those luscious lips.
“Do you wish to please me?” he murmured, holding out a hand. She leaned in, placing her lips against his palm
“I do, sir-” He pushed his thumb into her mouth as she answered, feeling the hot wetness inside. Her tongue slid over the intruding digit, sucking and licking like it was the most delicious treat.
“Then please me.”
With no further instruction needed, she skilfully unbuttoned his shirt and trousers, reaching in to find his stiff member aching to be released. Her eyes never left his as she wrapped her fingers around the base and took the swollen tip into her eager mouth.
Having been impassive throughout, he allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of her mouth, rewarding her with a low, seductive moan. Spurred on, she feasted on him greedily, her lips sliding up and down his full length, tongue dancing against his flesh.
She is skilled, he thought briefly before pleasure drowned it out, her mouth so hot and attentive it was mind-numbing. As she took him deeply, he reached for her head and held her down, the back of her throat protesting as she gagged. Releasing her, she grinned hungrily and licked her lips, devouring him again and again; gagging, drooling, licking, and sucking.
Feeling himself on the brink, he took a fistful of her hair, fucking her pretty face with abandon until searing heat rose through him intensely, his cum spurting into her hot mouth. Her tongue lapped at his tender member, coaxing every drop out before pulling away triumphantly. She parted her lips, tongue protruding, proudly presenting it to her master. The sight of her tongue coated in his creamy seed looked obscene, and he loved it.
“Good girl,” he purred, pushing her chin up with a slender white finger to close her mouth. She swallowed.
Taking her by the hand, Snape pulled her to her feet, leading her to a threadbare chaise across the room. Its once luxurious plum velvet was now concealed with a carelessly draped throw. He sat down, pulling her on top of him, a pale hand resting lazily on her hip.
“Hold still,” he muttered, lips inches from her bare breasts, breath ghosting over her skin.
With a swift flick of his wand and a muttered incantation, her arms were magically bound behind her back. The position left her chest exquisitely exposed, pert breasts on full display and easy to torment. Putting his wand to further use, he gave each nipple several sharp taps with the rigid wood. She squealed noisily with each stroke, yet he could feel the hot arousal between her legs as she squirmed on top of him.
Taking a bruised nub between his lips, he sucked hard, his teeth dragging over the tender flesh. In an attempt to escape from his merciless mouth, she writhed against him recklessly, bringing forth another throbbing erection.
“This is your own doing,” Snape groaned and forced himself inside her, letting out a throaty gasp. He held her still as he continued his assault on her breasts. She felt so good around his impossibly hard dick - hot, tight and slick. It was all he could do not to slam into her over and over, but he wanted to make her wait.
“Please… please fuck me…” she begged, unable to take any more.
He obliged, flipping her onto her back, hips raised as he plunged in and out. Her sweet wetness coated him, giving him the freedom to go as fast and as hard as he pleased. The fury and arousal he had been keeping restrained until now were unleashed, pouring every ounce of it into the woman beneath him. Fingers wrapped around her throat again, he relentlessly thrust himself deep inside, pushing on her windpipe as she gasped for air, releasing her just before she reached her limit. She shuddered and climaxed once more, pulsating and tightening around him. He slowed, her orgasm bringing him close to completion, but he was not ready to stop just yet.
“On your knees,” he growled, his voice husky, pulling off his shirt and throwing it across the room. She obeyed, still visibly shaking, face pressed against the damask fabric as he released the binding spell. The rosy handprints he had left on her arse cheek were already started to fade, prompting him to renew them; leaving his mark on her skin did please him so. She squealed with each strike, her back curving sinfully while her fingers clutched the embroidered cloth desperately. He pushed two long pale fingers inside her once more, enjoying both the feel and reaction, ensuring she was wet enough to take his length again.
“Please… sir, put it in my arse…”
“Earn it,” he replied curtly, knowing full well he would be doing exactly that, just not yet and certainly not at her behest. Instead, he impaled her again, the change in position delivering delicious new sensations. A hand on either hip, he slammed into her repeatedly, the action sending jolts of electricity along her spine, making it arch erotically. Her moans inflamed him; everything she did was filth and it was intoxicating.
Granting her wish at last, he spat on her willing anus and ran his thumb over it. It twitched and puckered beneath his touch, asking to be violated. He indulged it, pushing his thumb inside, its unbelievable tightness sucking him in as he penetrated both of her openings.
“Fuck…,” she whimpered, tossing her head back in ecstasy. “Please… please give me more…”
Taking a fistful of her hair, he forced himself deeper inside, barely able to contain his groans as her flesh consumed him. Every thrust sent his mind blank, a blissful nothingness where there was only pleasure. There were no students, no Hogwarts, no Death Eaters, no Dark Lord, no love, no loss. Just mindless bliss. He pulled his thumb from her anal passage, replacing it with two fingers and more spit. They roamed and flexed wantonly, stretching her open, each tiny movement rewarded with sensual moans.
“Get up,” he ordered. He didn’t really give her much of a choice, forcibly pulling her off the chintzy chaise, his length still buried inside. Snape wrapped a hand around her neck and brought his lips to her ear.
“I assume you understand what is going to happen next?”
She nodded weakly.
“Say it.” He felt her temperature rise, her pulse quickening beneath his fingers. Her hesitation encouraged him to tighten his grip.
“You… you are going to fuck my arse…” she breathed, panting anxiously. He felt her swallow hard with anticipation.
“Is that so?” he sneered and bit into her neck and sucked, intent on leaving his mark as his free hand slipped between her legs, tracing lazy rings around her clit. Her body squirmed in his firm hold, throaty moans vibrating through his hand.
Desperate to be inside her again, he guided her towards his bookcase, pushing her hard against the worn oak shelves. She clung to them as he lubricated himself with her juices, then pressed his aching tip against her hungry arsehole. Snape groaned, slowly pushing inside until she’d sucked him all the way in to the hilt. Every second spent holding himself back from fucking her senseless was torture. He rolled his hips slowly and rhythmically, allowing her to become accustomed to his girth, his hands clutching her breasts.
“Make me take it,” she murmured, turning to watch him over her shoulder, ragged breaths parting her painted lips, eyelids heavy with arousal.
Fuck, he thought, I want to destroy her.
Grabbing her by the chin, his mouth covered hers with an intense urgency, lips and tongues colliding furiously. His hips bucked against her, pounding his cock in and out of her luscious hole with a ferocity he was not aware he possessed. Her screams were an aphrodisiac, drawing a faint pink flush all over his pale flesh. He wanted more, he wanted to be deeper.
Roughly, he grabbed a smooth, shapely leg and manoeuvred it onto one of the shelves, spreading her wide open to further his reach inside. Her fleshy channel squeezed his dick, tightening and throbbing.
Fuck! He was in paradise. A wicked, sinful kind of paradise of their own making. He didn’t even care that his pleasure was now audible, releasing rasping growls into her ear, biting her perfect skin, tainting her with his darkness.
His fingers pleasured her slick pussy, diving in as his length pummelled her from behind, adoring her obscene wetness and heat. He wanted to feel her orgasm again, relentlessly fingering and fucking her, fluids dripping over his digits and onto the shabby rug beneath. She was close, he could feel it.
“Come for me,” he snarled, teeth bared.
“Yes!” she screamed passionately, her trembling turning into deep, uncontrollable shudders as she climaxed. “Oh fuck- yes!”
Cruelly, his fingers kept abusing her heated flesh, bringing wave after wave of pleasure with their practised movements. She threw her head back, howling with ecstasy, the pulsing of her orgasm sending him insane. There was nothing in his mind except the desire to own her, to pleasure her, to devour her. His own climax was imminent, compelling him to pound harder. Half-mad with need, his guttural groans melded with her wild squeals.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Fuck!”
He exploded deep inside her, filling her pretty pink hole with his seed. Clutching her desperately, he spasmed and moaned, biting into her shoulder to stifle his depraved outburst. His mind was empty, existing only in the glorious moment before a soft voice drew him back.
“I want… I want to hear you say it again,” she whispered, her arms caressing his as he held her tightly. He felt her weakening in his grip, the toll of their perverse deeds finally falling due. Lifting her gently into his arms, he carried her through his small house to the bedroom, placing her carefully onto his bed. Snape brushed her hair from her face, leaning in closely to make sure she heard.
“Good girl.”

He awoke later that morning; his windows were open, and the sun streamed in rudely, already high in the sky. Next to him, the bed was empty.
Snape sighed. While he was not one for morning-after interactions, especially awkward ones, he would have liked to have at least seen her face once more before she disappeared from his life. His arm flopped into the space she had once occupied, sending up the delicate scent of night-blooming flowers. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to breathe in, then quietly arose and made his way downstairs.
Carrying a hot cup of black coffee, he walked past the study and peered inside. A flush of heat rose up his neck, the memories of what took place in there still vivid and raw in his mind. He wondered if he should have felt ashamed, but they had both been willing and wanting, the disturbed furniture and heady scent of sex were a testament to that. Black eyes scanned the room, recalling each explicit act. If she had still been there when he awoke, he would have gladly repeated every obscene second.
He moved towards the desk, returning the green leather armchair to its rightful place by the fire. The scattered parchment lay strewn on the desk and floor, quickly enchanted back into a tidy pile with the swish of his wand. Each subsequent movement set the room back in order as if nothing from the night before had happened at all.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the book he had been reading, out of place on the windowsill. He picked it up, the sketches she had foisted upon him tucked inside. Almost unconsciously he unfolded the drawings, his mouth dry at the thought of what they contained.
A third piece of parchment had been added to the stack, the crisp paper neatly folded in comparison to the crumpled sheets from the pub. Carefully unfurling it, the new illustration made the breath catch in this throat once again.
She must have drawn him while he was sleeping, sprawled alluringly amongst the pillows and blankets of his bed. His pale skin seemed to glow in the light filtering through the nearby window. While her depiction of his body was painfully beautiful, it was the expression on his face that intrigued him the most. There were no hard lines, no scowls, none of his life’s hardships evident on his content sleeping face - it was almost innocent. This face didn’t exist in his reflection, it was a world he had never known.
Release. I see.
Folding each sheet carefully, he opened the book to return them to its sanctuary. He froze when a recognizable face winked lasciviously at him from the pages.
What the-? he thought, as the illustrations dropped from his hands and softly fluttered to the floor. It was unmistakably her; dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, painted lips smiling wickedly as she peered over the top of her reading glasses. Below her picture, he read: -
Author and illustrator Nova Penrose – Order of Merlin 3rd Class
Miss Penrose’s ability to accurately divine the future through her artistic capabilities has been invaluable to the Ministry of Magic on a number of occasions. Her talent with the quill can be seen throughout this special edition, with each diagram exquisitely rendered to bring out the true beauty of each potion ingredient…
The rest of the text was obscured by a crimson lipstick mark imprinted on the page. Snape glanced at the photo again, just in time to see her blow him a kiss. How he wanted to see those lips on him once more, to have that deep red stain smeared across his skin. He clutched the binding tightly, his mind a cauldron of rapidly bubbling emotions. Finally, after minutes of indecision, he bent down and picked up the fallen pages and tucked them inside, careful not the smudge the lipstick mark. Walking purposefully towards the bookcase, he took a deep breath and filed the volume away.
Like brooms passing in the night, he thought to himself without regret and retrieved his cup of coffee.

Later that evening, Snape sat in his green armchair, grasping the battered armrest with its worn, cracked leather. Golden liquid glistened in the tumbler in his hand, the cut-glass catching the last of the day’s sunlight. Unfolded parchment lay in a jumbled heap upon the smooth, ink-stained wood of his desk. The faint sound of a crack caught his attention, as the ice in his drink split into two.
Clink.
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