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Sense and Insensibility Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 33531 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
A/N: This chapter is for Fox because she needs it, DSxx
OO – ‘Sad sex scenes--the epitome of cognitive dissonance’ – I just can’t seem to leave it alone, can I? ;) ‘her being the wet wipe for his wanking was lovely’ – not nearly as lovely as the term ‘wet wipe’ – bahaha! ‘magic spooge to heal her pussy while injecting herself with semen serum’ – I am definitely getting you onto the marketing for this stuff. ‘what health perks she'll derive from the internal application’ – it just so happens she derives an almost immediate benefit!
Kvarta – ‘I heard Adagio part of Moonlight sonata, I can't describe to you how that perfectly fitted in your story! The emotional response is...beyond words.’ - I loved that so much because then I was imagining it too! Your hun is a genius! ‘but in this story they are somewhat smothered by the emotional or maybe situational burden, not just her but his as well’ – you are absolutely right, that last chapter was a bit of a transition where they were ‘feeling each other out’ which hasn’t really happened so far. I think the sexiness was definitely overshadowed by the emotion. ‘it's adorable how thoughtful she is in this scene’ – you were pretty scathing of my DIFTO Hermione, are you liking this one a little more? ‘we will see more of his POV’ – yes we do! ‘I'm flying on next Saturday and arriving on Sunday evening in Tokyo’ – amazing - I hope you have a brilliant time! – konnichiwa! xx
Fox – Hey Foxy, I was so sad hearing you speak the words that I have been feeling recently. I wish I could reach through the computer and give you a hug (here are some virtual ones anyway oooxxx). You do sound like you need a holiday – can you afford to take some? I really hope so. ‘when you become a stone carved vessle in which you hibernate, hoping for better days, pure survival’ - :( You probably guessed that a lot of what I am feeling was in these early chapters. But you also picked where things start to improve. ‘Sick of being strong.’ – you need someone you can be weak around, to let it all out when you need to. Always feel free to vent to me xx ‘I have no idea how can you write something so great while not being well’ – I just let myself roll around in the words with no real sense of a time frame or anything else, it was cathartic. ‘Hahahahaha I think you just made my day’ – so glad I could bring you a little bit of humour at least x ‘special line of cosmetics 'Severus' Essences'’ – I think you can join the marketing team with OO, we could make a killing :) ‘I certainly skipped at least few circles of hell in a recent hour!’ – you got it, slowly on the mend :) ‘Trust a Slytherin King to 'help' you’ – hahah . . . always. ‘Maybe it's my state of mind, but the sex had a sad lining to it’ – you are absolutely right . . . they are two damaged souls trying to work out how to be. ‘I don't think he should let her out of his rooms. In my humble opinion they should utilise is to the limits.’ – LOL. I hope you enjoy your chapter. xx

Chapter 13 – Break and Mend
He answers the soft knock at his laboratory door and she enters—her spontaneous but weary smile enough to give him an instant lift. She’d left the previous evening in a torrent of effusive, but wholly unnecessary, apologies and he’d remained sitting, shirt and coat gaping, cock out, for so long that he’d had to cast several warming incantations before he’d been able to mobilise and finally drag himself to bed.
His dreams had been dark and troubled but he’d been unable to recall much beyond an uneasy sense of foreboding when he’d awoken. Since then, the day hadn’t improved—back to back lessons and a mundane meeting between the House Masters and the Head Mistress who seemed all too keen to inquire about the progress of his current guest.
Of course he had absolutely no intention of divulging anything of their relationship—if it could indeed be considered in such terms. And it wasn’t as though he didn’t have myriad questions of his own.
“You wanted to see me?” She sinks into the chair opposite, making a valiant effort to appear upbeat but the tightness in her brow betrays the fact that she is clearly bone tired. Had her sleep been as torrid as his own?
“The Head Mistress has asked me to provide a forecast.” He leans forward over clasped hands, speaking quickly so as not to keep her any longer than necessary. “She wants an accurate prediction of potion productivity so that payment advances can be requested.”
“Is the school really that desperate for funds?” She frowns.
“Yes.”
Sighing, she lifts a palm towards him. “I’ll assist wherever I can. I can harvest . . . prepare . . . brew . . . sort . . . package . . . even clean. I learn quickly . . . just tell me what you need of me.”
He leans back in his seat, hoping that he hadn’t appeared too forceful. “It will require us to work together . . . on weekends to begin with. And may include additional evenings if production is behind.”
“Of course.”
There isn’t a moment’s hesitation. He appraises her, delicate brows raised to emphasise her words—to confirm that her support for him is without question. And the tightness in his stomach, a tension that he hadn’t even recognised as present, instantly dissipates. He realises that the unfamiliar calm is, in fact, relief . . . a surprising tranquility instilled by the sense of a burden shared.
He couldn’t remember a time in the past when he hadn’t felt the full weight of some grave responsibility upon his shoulders. He had occasionally been forced to rely upon the assistance of others but generally made efforts to avoid it, preferring the security granted by compulsive distrust.
But the idea of a working partnership, one with the promise of regular company and the opportunity for intelligent conversation, buoys him more than he could have thought possible. And the fact that it is with the person sitting opposite—exceedingly bright, endearingly sincere, intriguingly sensual and unknowingly responsible for this—the extraordinary resurrection that already seems to be manifesting itself once again in his trousers—makes it all the more appealing.
She stands. “Is that all you wished to discuss?”
There is something in her inquiring gaze, russet and elusive in the lamplight . . . another of the unspoken remnants that seem to be mounting between them.
He decides that it is now time to put a voice to his thoughts.
“If you are to progress in your recovery, I believe that it is going to be important to determine whether the healing effects are unique to myself of if this is a generalised phenomenon.”
She looks at him hard as though having difficulty processing his words. “What are you suggesting? That someone else’s . . . semen . . . might be equally effective?”
He shrugs. “It’s quite possible.”
Her eyes drop to the floor for a moment, lips hovering around a silent thought before she appears to gather herself. “I do understand the burden that I have placed upon you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Her eyes lift to his. “I don’t blame you for wishing for me to seek an alternative.”
His brows knit together as he pushes himself up from his chair.
“That was not my intention.”
“It really doesn’t matter,” she assures him, turning slightly as he steps around the desk and slowly approaches. “I didn’t ever expect that this would be a permanent arrangement.”
“Really?” The word spirals languorously off his tongue.
Her lips move but she has difficulty forming words as he closes in, each deliberate step accentuated by the cool slide of his fingers across the desktop.
“Why not?”
A thread of warning winds down her spine.
“I . . . I just . . . I didn’t expect that you’d want . . .” She hastily turns her back to the desk as he stops in front of her.
“That I would want . . .?” He leans in. She reaches back, grasping the edge of the desk before she falls onto it. “. . . What?” His breath, cool and restrained, caresses her cheek.
Eyes shuttering against the pain, she whimpers her sorry admission, “. . . Me”—instantly surrendering the column of her throat as her face tips away from his heated gaze.
But he follows. Not allowing her to escape, he tracks her, the tip of his nose hovering so close to hers that she barely dares to breathe.
“And what if the opposite . . . were true?” His murmur ruffles against her lips, but they do not touch.
She can’t respond but her breasts shudder against the heat of his chest as he presses closer still. Gripping the desk on either side of her but still maintaining an infinitesimal gap between their bodies, he finally alights at a single point, his nose against her cheek.
The intimate blur of his face so close to hers, the whispery caress from the bold curve of his nose, and now his lips feathering exquisitely along the sensitive line of her jaw turns her legs boneless.
As she attempts to arch into him, trying for more contact despite her body’s protests, he flexes away, each tantalising titbit of touch clearly a deliberate act of enticement, plucking away at her sanity as much as her restraint. She whimpers with the arrival of his searing tongue—a steamy sensory escalation that has her eyelids falling closed and her mouth opening searchingly, seeking to ensnare her tormenters, to draw them inside for a taste of her own lascivious plundering.
But she doesn’t capture him. He breaks away. And before her eyes can venture open, she feels it—a large presence—between her legs.
Her eyes fly open to find him there—on one knee. Hands lost beneath her dress, their location is revealed a split-second later by a shifting shivery graze—the first fingers to explore her labia, including her own, in years.
Her head pitches back as his touch gradually emboldens, firming as he slithers deeper into her crevice until, through her knickers, she feels his fingertip curl briefly into her opening.
Tightening her grip on the desk with a needy moan, she spreads her thighs wide and, seconds later, her knickers are gone, her pussy suddenly exposed and gaping but, as she would reflect later, stupidly naïve and entirely unprepared for what is about to come . . . her complete and utter deconstruction.
She feels it first as a light pressure at her apex, then a burst of sensation as he slips between her lips. But he stops just there, and she holds her breath as he lingers, rubbing delicately with the pad of one finger before, without warning, detonating her clitoris. Releasing the air in an explosive burst, she shudders as scorching flares leap through her core, his fingers plying her with such shocking expertise that her mouth drops open with a tremulous gasp.
The carnality of the sensation alone would be sufficient to send her into erotic bliss but when she ventures her hooded gaze downward and witnesses his expression—raw desire imbuing the shadowed angles of his features, emblazoned within the flush of his skin, igniting the depths of his impossibly black eyes—she finds her hips suddenly rocking for more, as though she isn’t only barely coping with what he is giving her.
Then his fingers delve forward, sluicing through the juices that she can already feel flooding her pussy, before curling and sliding up inside. She cries out. Despite having his cock inside her the previous evening, this is very different. His long, thrusting fingers attend to her with such wicked provocation that she is only vaguely aware of the hoarse mewling that rasps from her throat.
And just when she feels that her pussy, after such a long, lonely hiatus, is set to ignite and explode with the friction of his frenetic pumping, he lifts her dress, magically securing it at her hips, before propping his other hand on the desk by her own clenching fist and leaning forward to slip his tongue between her folds.
“Oh, Gods . . . Oh . . . fuckkkhhhh . . . unnnhhh.”
She loses control over all vocalisation as he flicks the head of her clitoris over and over again whilst reaming the clenching walls of her tunnel. Then he thrusts his mouth forward, laving deeply, the slick sound of his muscle penetrating her juices, pouring an erotic symphony into her hyper-attuned ears that sends her careening even closer to an earth-shattering pelvic paroxysm.
She is shaking now, struggling to hold herself up. If he had done this prior to the previous evening she would be screaming the place down in agony, but now she is hyperventilating under the weight of years of carnal yearning, her unintelligible moans having taken on a distinctly primal edge. The mounting speed of his plunges and deft whipping of her clitoris between his lips forces her hand into his hair, fisting his locks harder than she intends to but simultaneously incapable of letting go.
And then he growls, deep and animalistic. She feels the vibration through her pussy and it finally pushes her over.
She screams, mouth open to the ceiling as she comes harder than she has ever come in her life—bucking and jolting against the desk, her entire body erupts in earth-shattering convulsions. Her pussy jerks and wrenches around the plunging fingers still inside her, simultaneously expelling a liberating stream of juice, her scream turning into breathy moans on the back of each hot, pulsing release.
And he is there, lapping up the fruits of his efforts, head delving rhythmically beneath her fingers as she continues to twitch, shudder and ooze through the aftershocks.
Finally he stands, hands returning to the desk either side of her, lips and chin glistening, the air redolent with her musky release.
“I hope I’ve made myself . . . clear,” he growls, the sex on his voice still managing to tug at her shattered core.
“I . . . I think so.”
He frowns.
“But . . . just in case . . .” She winces as she swallows through her shredded throat. “Maybe you should show me again?”
- 12
- 13
- 14
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Sense and Insensibility *Complete*

Sense and Insensibility Complete