Doing it for the Order *Complete* | By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 72673 -:- Recommendations : 6 -:- Currently Reading : 4 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction. |
A/N: Apparently my A/N's are too long. I've had to cut them down. Sorry I can't write as much as I would want to, DSx
MzPearlz – Hey, that’s cool that you have a friend who is encouraging you to write. She must enjoy what you do. ‘I'm thinking Sev was faking it so he would have to worry about her freaking out’ – I wondered who might think that, I suspect he was too. ‘Maybe he should have went to the American girl anyway?’ – hahah, do you think that was the problem? ‘I'd feel a bit awesome’ – LOL. Oh the power! ‘Sev, dressed up, is delish’ – totally ;)
Fox –I love that phrase ‘guilt fertiliser’ - be careful or I might just steal it! I’ll try not to cause you too much further displeasure – but I don’t guarantee it x. ‘All the info in this chapter is pretended! Most questions unanswered! You are a merciless tease.’ – Hey, I’m just sprinkling the clues through the chapters. You wouldn’t want it too obvious would you? ;) ‘And Sna-ape is jea-lous’ – hehe – I’m quite partial to a jealous Snape. ‘Drake is right, good cock is a cure for almost anything, especially headache, I know, I tried.’ – LOL. Such an inspired approach! Excited to see what you think of The Book that Binds. That was a really fun story to write – one of my favourites xx
Kvarta – '2 more days and my work is done, I will more than welcome her return’ – Good! I’ve been spending way too much time writing. I have heaps of other stuff I need to get on with. ‘Each time I plan to leave just a short note and end up with leaving you War and Peace.’ – And I love it :) ‘would we all loved him so much if he isn't damaged goods?’ – that’s a really good question. I think that’s what makes him interesting for me, I’m not sure about others. ‘And ofc she had to degrade to emotional turmoil, teenagers’ – and that’s what the little ‘spin the bottle’ interlude was also about. She is a young person, not much more than a child, trying to deal with some pretty big responsibilities. ‘But Snape showing up when she had to kiss Harry - you are devious! Are you trying to destroy him completely? Evil!!!’ – Evilish! Let me know what you think after this chapter ;) And your next chapter is delivered without too many nails missing – hopefully ;) x
SadieH – Thank you :) What’s next is up now!
Ali – ‘But you know if he manned up a bit and gave her a thorough good snogging followed by the rogering of her life, they might learn to get along a lot better.’ – now that’s a good idea. I wonder if he heard you? :) ‘No doubt easier said than done as there didn't appear to have been any sort of attraction before they had to engage in this manner.’ – again, spot on. Thank you for your wonderfully generous comments about my writing – I really do appreciate it. :)
OO – ‘Or more likely hurt--setting back their growth and stabbing a huge spike through their cautious camaraderie’ – so beautifully accurate and eloquent. ‘But this was more innocent--just a bit of light hormone-driven teenage fun’ – totally. It was meant as a little relief but to also demonstrate that this was/is her life, not everything she’s been forced to engage in with the decree. It’s a double slap in the face for him. And he’s kissing the person Snape had respectfully forced himself not to. I always love your insights xx
Chapter 13 – Just What the Doctor Ordered
“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” Snape growled as soon as the common room door had closed behind them.
“I could ask you the same question,” Hermione hissed angrily. “Why didn’t you reply to my Owls?”
“I was busy.” He ground out the last word.
“Well you don’t seem to have a problem interrupting me when I’m busy.”
“Is that what you call this?” Snape’s eyebrows shot up. “Being ‘busy’ with Harry Potter?”
Hermione clamped her mouth shut. It was none of his business.
“I don’t suppose that charming dalliance could have waited for another evening?” he snapped.
“It’s not my fault that you always leave it to the last minute. You didn’t respond. I needed to talk to you.”
“Obviously. That’s why you reneged on our appointment in favour of spending it in a ‘close-quarters conversation’ with Potter.”
“What’s your problem?” Hermione’s voice rose in indignation. “You don’t own me!”
Glancing around, Snape grabbed her by the elbow and started marching her down the corridor.
“You expect me to come running whenever you need me,” she panted, having difficulty keeping up with him. “Or worse, you expect me to make everything happen. I shouldn’t be controlling what happens. You should.”
He didn’t respond.
“You need to grow some balls.”
He stopped dead. As he turned on her, the intensity of his glare made her throat close over.
“You want me to take control?”
Swallowing with difficulty under his impossibly dark gaze, she finally gave a shaky nod.
“Say it,” he ordered.
“I . . . I want you to take control,” she murmured.
“Do . . . not . . . forget . . . this.” Each word was a solid jab, making it abundantly clear that he wouldn’t let her forget. Tightening his grip on her arm, he pulled her toward a nearby door.
Wandlessly unlocking it, he pushed her through into a darkened classroom.
“What are we—?”
A hand clamped over her mouth. “When I’m in control . . . you . . . do . . . not . . . speak.”
Her heart accelerated as his breath trickled down the back of her neck. What had she just given him permission to do?
Grabbing her by the shoulders, he twisted her around, disorienting her in the darkness. She reached out to steady herself but found her arms instantly pinned to her sides. Escape! Trying to pull herself from his strong hands, she was suddenly met with the intense sensation of wet heat at the base of her neck. His mouth. She froze.
The laving pressure against her sensitive skin, magnified by the darkness, sent a shiver crawling into her scalp. Surging upward, he latched onto another mouthful of prickling flesh before suctioning onto the pulse thrumming wildly at her throat. She felt her neck muscles melting, her head dropping back despite the threat of teeth grazing against her life force.
“Uhhh,” she moaned, a wordless plea for clemency. But she had a sense that she wouldn’t be getting it. It was quite clear that he had a point to make. In all honesty, she was quite confident he’d already made it, she was struggling to draw breath after all. But as he cast one seam-splitting spell after another, causing layer upon layer of her clothing to slither away, she realised that he’d only just begun.
The cold rapidly seeped in. Her whole body tensed. She was freezing.
“Could you possibly cast a—”
Something was roughly pushed into her mouth. His thumb. Trapping her tongue. Her words turned into grunts and then into silence.
Then he removed himself from her altogether. She stood, shivering, only his shadowy outline visible in the gloom. Was he going to leave her like that—force her to return naked to the common room?
But then she felt it—a feather-light touch grazing both of her freezing nipples. She jolted, clenching her hands into tight fists. And while she waited anxiously for the sensation to return, something even more unexpected happened. A warmth fluttered against her lips. Breath. His breath. And then lips, brushing, passing by once, twice, before they held, the slightest moisture adhering to hers but still barely perceptible. And his fingertips returned to her nipples, ghosting across them as lightly as his lips.
Her entire body was on high alert—nerve endings firing like crazy in an attempt to capture each ethereal thread of sensation. It was both tantalizing and agonizing. And so . . . controlled.
Oh so gradually the pressure built—tiny increments of stimulation that caused the air to stick in her lungs, unmoving until the next pinpoint of sensation released it, like the work of some sort of sensual acupuncturist.
Her nipples were being moulded from all sides, each base rolled delicately to the point that she could even feel the sub-structures, ducts and sponginess turning pliant. Then she was being opened, coaxed by brief, gentle nudges of his lips until she found her mouth gaping, shuddering gasps bursting from her throat, wondering where he was, which part of him would land next.
His tongue delivered only the briefest, delicate caress. Hers surged out to meet it but he was gone. Only his vibration remained, a trace of potent energy that she could almost taste. Her lips tingled, filling, engorging in anticipation of union, a hopeful end to the teasing that had her so exquisitely aroused that the possibility that he wouldn’t kiss her drew a sob from her aching throat.
“Tell me what you want,” his voice, a drizzle of warm honey, caused her to swallow—a vain attempt to take at least some part of him into her.
“I want you . . .” Her voice was pitiable. A whimper. But it was all she could manage. “I want you to . . . kiss me.”
He didn’t respond. His hands withdrew. Her entire body screamed into the darkness. What did he want from her?
Without warning, his hot mouth engulfed hers. A hand raked into her hair, gathering a fistful before jerking her head back so that her jaw dropped and she was as open to him as possible. As his lips devoured hers, tongue probing deep into her mouth, she felt herself responding with a level of desperation that shocked her. Lapping and drinking him like a dying woman offered cool water, she became aware of her own frantic moans and wondered who she’d become. They weren’t sounds she’d ever made in her life.
And she would have put them down to a circumstantial aberration if he hadn’t suddenly released her and they’d continued. It turned out she wanted him. Like no one she’d ever wanted in her life.
“Where is your wand?”
“Sorry?” she panted.
“Your wand?”
“It’s . . . uhhh . . . it’s in my pocket—my jacket.”
“Accio.”
A moment later she felt the smooth wood being placed in her hand. Then he lifted her, carrying her a few paces before sitting her bare backside on a hard surface—a desk. There was a flutter of cloth, followed by firm pressure against her chest as he pushed her down until she was lying on what felt like his coat.
His warm palms skimmed down her bare abdomen before sliding over her hips and curling around her inner thighs. Pushing her legs apart, he grasped the tip of her wand and directed it down between her legs. The cool wood touched her clitoris.
“Cast Histomalleus,” he instructed.
Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she blinked into the swirling darkness above her. What was he going to do?
“Cast . . . the . . . incantation,” he repeated.
She closed her eyes. “Histomalleus.”
She instantly felt it—her nub—now swollen and heavy between her labia. Her wand slipped from her fingers. He’d removed it.
It began as the sensation of firm fingers peeling back the flesh of her lips, exposing the dampness of her pussy to the cool air. Opening her legs had felt revealing enough but having her most private region opened up like a dissection piece was excruciating.
At least that’s how it felt until the next thing happened—until her detailed analysis suddenly became less important . . . much . . . less . . . important.
“Gods!”
His smouldering mouth had latched onto her giant clitoris, the tip of his tongue stroking along the shaft sending shocks of pleasure deep into her core.
Her head strained forward to see what was happening—as if she might understand the powerful sensations better if she could see. But it was almost completely dark and he was just a mass between her legs—an oh-so-intense form, stimulating her to a level that was almost beyond comprehension.
His tongue was soft but firm, like a cock but moving with conscious intent. And it was the intention that claimed her—that drove her to foggy incoherence. There seemed to be no boundaries to his exploration. After stroking and flicking her clitoris into a pulsing monster, he delved down and laved into her aching pussy. It must be dripping, drenched. But he didn’t seem put off, alternating between ticklish prods and rhythmic plunges.
And she found her hips rocking reflexively to meet him. In many ways it was like fucking. But with the fine tickle of his hair between her thighs, she couldn’t forget what was really going on down there. A tongue in her pussy seemed so much more extreme.
But when he returned his attention to her clitoris and slipped what felt like two good-sized digits inside her, she lost all concept of what fucking was and wasn’t.
“Oh my . . . Oh. . . Oh fuck,” she groaned, grabbing the side of the desk with one hand; the other fisting into his hair.
“Unnhhh.”
Her head rocked from side to side as the speed of his thrusting fingers increased, his tongue going one-on-one with her clitoris—and clearly winning.
She felt his head shaking beneath her fist, jostling her throbbing nub mercilessly, and he was rubbing at a spot deep inside her, making her want to pee.
There were no words or expletives to relate what was happening. Even breathing seemed impossible at times. Crying was a real possibility. It was so visceral, so all-consuming.
The friction of his digits against her walls, and the pounding of his knuckles against her perineum as they rammed home again and again suddenly felt too good—too good not to let it all go.
Curling her fingers into his hair, her hips shuddered before rearing up violently as she came. A hoarse cry flew from her lips as she felt something liquid squirt from her seizing channels. The convulsions were extreme—playing out as forceful jerks and jolts throughout her entire body. And his fingers continued to plunge and shake inside her as she seized. Could he feel her? Did he know she was coming?
A sob escaped her as the last powerful contractions rippled through her pelvis, as he released her clitoris which was still pounding with blood, and withdrew from her pussy which continued to twitch with sizeable aftershocks.
Her thoughts were all over the place. Now that the distraction of arousal was behind her, she was trying to work out what had happened. And why.
But before she’d moved beyond his need to demonstrate sexual prowess, he’d rolled her over.
“I don’t think I—” she began, but suddenly she was shoved forward and a firm hand gripped the back of her neck.
“What are you—!”
“Thump.” Her forehead hit the desk.
She could feel him kneeling on the desk behind her. She was on all fours but he’d pushed her head down and was holding it there.
“In order for me to take control, you must relinquish it.”
“But I don’t—!”
“Thump.” Her head thudded firmly against the desk again. It didn’t actually hurt but it shocked her. And the sense of domination she felt was certainly extremely uncomfortable.
Moments later, she felt pressure at her entrance and then he pushed into her. She was tight—swollen. His cock felt bigger than usual because of it. The size of him and weight of him pressing down on her was oppressive. And as he began to thrust, each jolt compressed her head further into the desk. She was being compacted, diminished.
It was something she’d struggled against for years. As a Muggle born—a ‘Mudblood’—being considered a second-class citizen, a lesser human, was at the core of all of her insecurities. Why did people think she was so desperate to prove herself? Why was she such an ‘insufferable know-it-all’? Because being something was far better than being nothing—better than being dismissed because of her origins—something that she had absolutely no control over.
And he was seeking to do it to her again—to make her feel lesser. The heat of anger, humiliation and pure physical pressure pooled in her face. Reaching behind her head, she tried to prise his fingers away but he tightened them.
“Stop it!” She clawed at him.
“Let go,” he commanded.
She sobbed. What was he talking about?
He continued to plunge into her. She was helpless to do anything; he was simply too strong. She stopped struggling and just gave in—she had to let it be.
And that’s when it happened. A strange lightness suddenly captured her, rolling like a wave through her entire body. And she started to breathe. Properly. Deeply. She sensed a release—as though she’d been trapped under a tremendous weight and had finally broken free.
And that weight, she suspected, was her sense of responsibility—her need to manage and control every element to keep her anxiety about failure in check. But in this helpless state, she’d had to relinquish it—to give it over to him.
Although she felt her body responding again, she was captured by the compelling notion that it no longer belonged to her. Her flesh had simply become a conduit for his intention. And his intention was to stop her from undermining the process, to trust him to know what to do. It was entirely foreign but it was a . . . huge . . . fucking . . . relief. Enough to bring tears to her eyes.
She began to shudder and the pressure on her neck lifted, his hand delving into her hair instead, rubbing soothingly against her scalp. His other hand slid down to massage her clitoris which was still enormous but more than ready to accept the stimulation.
As his rhythm accelerated, she felt the tightness in her core build—in contrast to the rest of her body which was practically boneless. Face wet with tears, she turned and nuzzled into his palm, rubbing herself like a cat into his caresses.
“Well done, Miss Granger.” His voice was tight.
Then the force rubbing against her clitoris increased and she was lost.
Curling her head against the desk, she gasped as her body erupted with a second monumental orgasm. He was only a few strokes behind. Groaning with what sounded like equivalent relief, he came inside her, the fizz through his cock simultaneously electrifying her walls, making it all the more satisfying. Then his palms were on her back, strong thumbs rubbing the tension from her muscles as they both came down.
Gently pulling out, he climbed off the desk, helping her to the ground.
And when they were both standing on the cold floor she looked up into his dark, featureless face.
“I won’t forget,” she whispered.
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