Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Massage	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 52203 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
A/N: Thank you all for the reviews! LadyxEmpire, if you would leave an email I'd love to discuss with you further stories and a little bit about their shelf life. Thanks for the review here! Hopefully this chapter won't disappoint.

He had presented some difficulty in shifting his body on his own. Hermione had often assisted patients when moving them about between hospital beds and wheel chairs, but this was different. The man was naked; and somewhat aroused, though he refused to open his eyes and for that she was silently grateful. Moving a fragile naked patient from a showering cubicle to their wheelchair or assisting and naked male from his bed to the chamber pot was entirely different than assisting the man before her. The man whose skin she was touching so intimately, the man whose body was so easily stimulated at her massaging touch; the man that was Severus Snape. She’d helped adjust his shoulders, easing him back and onto his side until he was laying on his stomach, head tilted to one side, his cheek pressed against the cold table surface. The table had not been equipped with a headrest though she supposed in retrospect it would have been easy enough to transfigure one.

            He did not seem to complain; however, with his face resting against the table, eyes closed, the man appeared to be sleeping. This brought no solace to Hermione as she prepared to massage him once more. To see his back nearly took her breath away. Covered in so many scars it was a wonder the man was able to maintain such a perfect posture; the previous few days excluded. His skin was ghostly pale; though she imagined a man who spent most of his days dwelling in darkness, a double-agent, a life itself lived in darkness, without much chance or need for sunlight, but it was hard to see his pale skin through the scars. Entry points of the Cruciatus curse; wicked twisted scars that looked like faded burns; and a few other scars that appeared to have been forced upon the man physically, by weapon or by hand she could not tell but it saddened her to think of the pain and great suffering he had endured to show such marks.

            Her eyes traced his many scars taking her mind away from the thoughts of his erect member now hidden by his body. She had read of such incidents in patient care but had been fortunate to never encounter such a situation until now. Most of the patients for whom she had previously administered massages or skin relaxation therapy had been elderly or female and the situation had never presented itself. Though she supposed, as she thought on the matter, that Severus Snape was not that old. Certainly a good twenty years her senior if not more, but not beyond the age of being able to naturally achieve the state of erection. Hermione felt her cheeks warm with blush as the thoughts trickled through her mind and absently she noted that she had begun to stroke her fingers idly over the various scars near his shoulder blades; tracing one in particular, a long and thin mark that ran the width of his shoulder blades. She stilled her fingers and closed her eyes, drawing in a slow and quiet breath.

            The man on the table remained still. He kept his eyes closed; but she watched as his chest rose slowly and steadily. She coated her hands in the chilly blue salve and stood at the side of the table. Gripping his shoulder blades she began to massage his back; working her fingers firmly against his skin. It was only a moment before he released a faint whimper; and she frowned, knowing that he was resisting the urge to vocally release the tension she was melting away from this body. Hermione pressed harder as she squeezed his shoulders, rubbing and flexing her fingers over his taught muscles. She pulled her hands back for a moment and pressed the ball of her elbow at the base of his right shoulder blade. It wasn’t called for in his particular treatment but she had used it many times before on other patients, to further alleviate pain. She applied pressure to her elbow, forcing it in slow circular motions against him and couldn’t help the smile that graced her lips as his moan reverberated through the tiny room.

            Hermione repeated this gesture near his other shoulder blade, circling with firm pressure until he was once again moaning, his lips trembling as she massaged him. She returned her hands to him, pounding up and down the length of his spine with her knuckles before coating her hands with more salve. She pressed her thumbs slowly up each vertebra, massaging and flexing her fingers out the length of his ribs as she moved slowly up his spine to his neck. She had started at the middle of his spine, reached his neck and began to work her way slowly down. He was whimpering, soft gasps as she would apply pressure to him; a whisper of a moan as she leaned heavy on his lower spine. Here was where most of the entry-scars appeared; the litter of marks that looked like savage burns as if the man had been prodded with a hot poker. She paid careful attention to each one; circling each scar over and over with the salve, her thumb pressing firmly with every sweep of her hand.

            Her palm flattened against the base of his spine, her wrist resting for a moment against his arse. All things considered the man was shapely; and Hermione did her best not to stare, but found once again her treacherous eyes could not be swayed to look away. Even there he held tight muscle tone, and wishing to be thorough in her work she coated her hands once more with the salve and slowly began to massage his buttocks. His muscles tensed at her touch; and she watched his body stiffen as she squeezed her hands against his taught flesh. His forehead wrinkled, brow creased with concentration; his eyes squinted shut tight rather than the natural state they had rested closed in moments before. She bit her lower lip and hesitated for only a second, but proceeded, squeezing the side of his thighs, kneading her fingers over and over, running her palms over the top swell of his buttocks and over the point of his spine until he could stand it no longer and Hermione heard the man groan. It was a low guttural sound that escaped him; a breath held far too long and she watched as the tension began to melt from his face.

            He was panting softly, his brow dripping with sweat and she longed to pause her ministrations and take a damp cloth to his forehead, but she continued on, slowly working her way over his buttocks and back up his back; pressing and kneading, massaging until she felt a significant difference in the tension of his musculature. She coated her hands with the warm pink cream and began to repeat her gestures; rubbing his shoulders, spreading her fingers out the length of his ribs, pressing her thumbs against each vertebra of his spine. Hermione rubbed the cream slowly over his buttocks and was rewarded once more with his low guttural moan; watching in awe as his face twisted into something strange; but not so unfamiliar as to go unnoticed. Again she felt her own cheeks warm with a blush and tried to look away; but despite his twisted features it was almost exciting to watch the man before her; responding to her touch. On some level she knew there was something darkly intimate about the way she was touching him, stroking him, feeling his skin as she imagined no other had ever intended; and at the same time she was managing to provide for the man something that he so desperately needed; release and relief.

            Despite her aching fingers and tingling palms Hermione felt a twinge of sadness strike her as she finished rubbing the last bit of the cream in at the base of his neck. She pulled her hands back slowly and wiped them on a nearby towel. Severus Snape did not move up from the table. She watched him for a moment, his breathing slow yet somewhat labored as if he were struggling with the notion of returning to a position other than his current state. She had stepped back toward the table and found her fingers tracing gentle circles over the scars of his neck. If he minded he gave no sign of protest as her fingers tangled gently in his black tresses, her nails scratching slowly over his scalp. She imagined it would feel soothing and wasn’t quite sure where the impulse had come from, but running her fingers through his hair; her nails against his scalp seemed pleasing. Her eyes were cast down; noting the slight streaks of grey that now dotted his once raven tresses. Age was catching up to the man and it caused her a moment of mental pause while she pondered his age. Surely no older than fifty if even that old, she thought as she added what facts she knew of him in her mind.

            She hadn’t felt his head turn; her hand gliding naturally as he shifted his head to face her. Hermione gazed down and was met with the dark black stare of his eyes. Her hand stilled in his hair and for a moment she felt her heart stop. But he did not bite out scathing comments, nor did he narrow his eyes in her direction. He simply stared at her, eyes blank, or so guarded that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. It caused her to flush and Hermione looked away, withdrawing her hand from his hair. She turned her back to him and faced the wall. “You can sit up now,” she said and immediately cursed herself for saying so. According to his patient file; which had taken her ages to find among Poppy’s hidden files; the combination of the salve and the cream would often leave him weakened, his muscles still recuperating, his nerves still delicate. If she wanted her patient to sit up, she would need to assist him.

            Turning once more to face the man she bent over at her waist and wrapped her arms gingerly around his shoulders. Carefully Hermione pulled him up into a sitting position, swinging his legs around the table, inadvertently coming to stand between them, with one leg on either side of her hips. His body fell forward almost limply against her chest, though his arms braced her shoulders as if it were a great struggle to support his own weight. Hermione lifted her eyes to the sky and prayed that the crimson stain in her cheeks would dissolve lest she look like a completely incompetent fool. His state of arousal had not abated; Hermione could feel his manhood angled awkwardly against her, as she’d dragged him a little farther to the edge of the table than she had intended. She closed her eyes; there had been nothing in the patient record about how to handle such a situation.

            And in all her medical training at Mungo’s no book had ever told her how to handle it. Of course protocol would have her offer to give the patient a moment of privacy, acting as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But for some reason with her current patient it was different. Aside from the fact that the man was mostly immobile due to his treatment; there was something about leaving him alone in the room in his current state. She almost felt guilty, a strange sensation tugging in the pit of her stomach; as if she were somehow responsible for his current state and therefore she should alleviate him from it. Again her cheeks filled with a heated blush and she tilted her eyes skyward once more trying to shake the ridiculous notion from her mind.

            “Stop thinking on it. If you’re going to assist, then do so, otherwise get out,” his voice was a hiss, barely a whisper, and Hermione nearly dropped the man from the edge of the table upon hearing his words. It was the first he had spoken to her since arriving for the treatment, and as she thought back on his arrival, also silent, she realized it was the first thing he had said since she presented herself at his office after her discovery of his condition. She felt the blush that had flooded her cheeks creep down her throat and fill her chest. She felt her lungs tighten and her whole body seemed to tingle. How on earth was she meant to respond to that?

            Hermione pulled back from him; keeping one hand on his shoulder to keep him balanced in an upright position; but he had leaned down on his forearm, supporting himself much better than before. His eyes were a black pool of liquid onyx, unreadable and fathomless as she met his gaze, uncertain as to how to proceed. She’d never been propositioned by a patient before, or anyone for that matter. And certainly not by a former professor, though given the circumstances she hardly felt it appropriate to be labeling proposition. She bit her lower lip and then quickly thought better of it, wrapping her arms around her chest as she kept her eyes trained on his. It would do no good to stare at his current problem and just the mere thought of it had her flushing once more. She couldn’t imagine what Poppy would do in the current situation, but again her thoughts were interrupted by his voice. “If you’re done allowing me to stew in humiliation, Miss Granger, get out,” he said.

            She shook her head suddenly as if his words had jarred her from a trance. Hermione took cautious steps toward the man seated on the table. She found herself standing once more between his legs; and her palm, tremulous but warm, rested on the top of his right thigh. “Does this always happen?” she found herself asking before she could stop herself.

            She watched as the man closed his eyes; his head tilting forward slightly as if he bowed his head in shame. “No,” he whispered.

            She couldn’t flush anymore without turning into a giant crimson puddle. Hermione’s fingers trembled; still aching from the intense full body massage she had given him. She bit her lower lip, harder than before, and waited for him to open his eyes, for him to speak. But she felt his hand; large and rough, warmer than his body had been, lay atop of hers. And at his touch her body jolted; a shiver of electricity shot up her spine. It was madness; the man before her, the whole situation, but she closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them, this time met with his stare. Those cold black eyes, demanding yet empty; staring into her; and slowly she felt his hand moving over hers; guiding hers, as her palm slid across his thigh until she was hovering just above his erection.

Thank you for reading! Please leave a review!
- 2
- 3
- 4
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Massage