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In Their Hands Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 19649 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: Oracle: Must thank you for corrections (I think I might have rushed it a bit) and a few handy plot items. Yes, I don’t have Emily’s reasons not to sleep but I still manage to do a pretty crap job of it. ‘She's trapped herself in a box that is slowly shrinking’ – beautiful. I loved your entire summary of her dilemma and am glad you read it as I intended. Oh, you are so onto me with SoTL – so there are so many lines I have changed because they are either too close or lifted directly from it – in my first run, the Starfish Boy allegory had an ‘and you think if you can save me you can stop the screaming of the lambs Clarice’ attached to it but I didn’t want to make Snape that creepy (although I was absolutely hot on A.Hopkins’ character when I first saw it) – I bet you knew Benjamin Raspail’s name without looking it up right? ‘Her rigid rules come into play with that idea too. She does like vulnerability when it fits with what she deems acceptable (Sarah and Emily and Creevy). But when Calder uses vulnerability in a sexual situation, she freaks out. As long as she feels sympathy for the person's plight, she's okay with it.’ – I’ve already told you how much I love this. It is such a perfect summary of where she is at and what she needs to combat. ‘Sometimes you have to embrace it to find freedom’ – Oh yes. I’m glad you are also interested in the sub-plottage, not just the main game.

Lovey_Reader: ‘That's it! I need therapy too!’ – LOL. I’m pretty damn sure I do too. I’m glad you enjoy the chapter names – I wonder if you can work this little one out ;)

Chapter 7 – A Bird in the Hand

“You’re looking decidedly bright eyed, Dr Granger. I’d also venture bushy-tailed but it’s a little difficult to tell from here,” George remarked as he slid into the seat beside her at breakfast. “Don’t tell me you decided to make another attempt at sleeping?”

She had slept. In fact, it was the best sleep she could remember having in a very long time.

“Just curled up with a good book and had an early night,” she said, focusing on her yoghurt tub as she willed the flush from her cheeks.

“Really?” He swivelled to face her. “I might have to borrow it when you’ve finished.”

Hermione tilted her head. “I don’t think it would be quite your thing.”

“Why? Does it have words?”

Hermione choked, splattering yoghurt over the table. “How many times have I told you not to make me laugh when I’m eating,” she admonished him, wiping away the drops with her palm.

“It’s not always possible to control one’s humour.” George slurped his coffee. “I happen to have a disorder, you know? It’s called hyper-hilarity—spontaneous and, if I might say, sometimes quite debilitating buffoonery.”

“Don’t you mean baboonery?”

He snorted. “Not bad, Dr Granger. I see the ‘humour for dummies’ CD I loaned you has finally come in to its own.”

Hermione knew there was no point trying to go head to head with George in his pet domain, he would wipe the floor with her.

“Your humour has not been lost, however, on a certain young lady.” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure of whom you refer but she does sound like someone with taste.” George returned the eyebrow raise and then did an extra wiggle for comedic effect.

“Ms Lenna?”

“Oh yes.” He took another swig of coffee. “Utterly delightful.”

His face suddenly turned serious and he let out a long breath. “And she’s definitely testing my comedic skills. When someone can go through what she has and still be willing to smile, it hits me right in the feels.” He thumped his chest, making himself cough.

Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand. “And that’s why you’re so good at helping people. You know a lot about loss.”

“Awww, I got over the ear a long time ago,” he responded with a sad grin.

“I meant Fred.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He returned the squeeze before sliding his chair out. “But the show must go on,” he gave a small bow. “They’re in our hands after all.”

***

Hermione waited in her office. A stony-faced Snape had requested a meeting with her and she was now picking at her cuticle, wondering what it might be about. She had plenty of work to be getting on with but her mind had no chance of thinking about anything other than being in his general vicinity again.

She had forseen this particular problem before he’d even arrived at Galladdon—his potential to monopolise her thoughts. But for some reason that hadn’t even been a consideration in her decision-making the previous day and now she sensed it could pose a considerable problem.

Then again, if the intention of the meeting was to put an end to their ‘arrangement’, perhaps she might be dislodging him from her thoughts sooner than expected.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she called, quickly picking up a pen to pretend that she’d been working.

He entered and closed the door behind himself. Locking it, wandlessly.

Her heart went from sixty to one hundred and twenty beats per minute in under two milliseconds.

He nodded toward the other door leading out of her office. “In your bedroom . . . Now.”

Hermione’s whole body swayed with each laboured breath but, as if she had been cursed with the Imperius, she rose and, without question, moved hastily to the door. He cast Alohomora and threw it open before she’d even arrived, following her in swift strides before pushing it closed with a loud thud.

“Take off your jeans and knickers. Leave your shirt on,” he ordered, pacing around her like a panther.

She was scared but, more than that, she was totally, achingly, aroused. The events of the previous evening had been the most erotic she’d ever engaged in and her pussy had been on constant high alert ever since. She was well aware that it was totally improper but she clung, steadfastly, on to her intention to consider their relationship a ‘professional arrangement.’

With shaking fingers she pulled down her jeans and knickers together.

“Boots off. Leave your socks on,” he instructed.

She did as he asked. Then stood, eyeing him warily, wondering what he had planned.

“Yesterday you learned to listen to your desire. Today you will learn to embrace it. Covet it.” As he spoke he slowly, emphatically flicked open the buttons of his right sleeve before rolling up the cuff to expose his pale forearm, rippling with sinewy muscles.

“Kneel on the edge of the bed, facing me.”

Again, she followed his instructions without question. It happened effortlessly, she didn’t even wrestle with herself, with any part of her. In fact, the voice she would have expected to be most vocal, her controlling self, seemed to have disappeared. Or at least taken a back seat.

He picked up a chair from the side of the room and placed it so that he could sit facing her, just below her eye level when she was kneeling. Propping one boot on the edge of the bed, he reached out and ran the fingertips of his exposed arm up her inner thigh. She shuddered in response.

“Open your legs further.” His voice was confidently instructive as if he had used the phrase a thousand times before.

She rocked her knees apart, feeling exposed despite the coverage of her shirt, the hem of which just covered her pubic hair.

Locking his onyx eyes upon her chocolate ones, he trailed his fingertips over the curve of her inner thigh until they brushed her lips. Her brow furrowed in a twitch that would have suggested pain had he not instantly drawn his fingers back, slick with her arousal.

Glancing down at it, she gave a half turn of her head as if to deny its existence, or perhaps her responsibility for it, before catching herself, realising that she was supposed to be embracing her desire, not negating it.

“When I question you. I expect you to answer honestly,” he said, lifting his glistening fingers to his nose and inhaling deeply.

She nodded, red streaks of mortification blooming across her cheeks.

“Did you enjoy yesterday’s lesson.”

“Yes.” Her voice was husky, as if she hadn’t used it in months.

“You will address me as ‘sir’.” He lifted his chin.

She hesitated for a long moment.

“Are we going to have a problem?”

“No . . . sir.”

He stared at her for so long that her thighs began to tremble.

Looking down at his wet fingers, he rubbed them against his thumb. “You have permission to speak freely throughout this session but you will remember this rule.”

When he returned his gaze to her, she answered quickly, “Yes, sir.”

He gave a single nod. “Better.”

Reaching out again, his hand brushed the hem of her shirt as his fingers slid between her legs. Her chest rose with the intrusion but she remained silent. Pushing one finger inside her, he slowly rocked it in and out before adding a second. She remained stock still, but the tension in her shoulders and abdomen belied her body’s reflexive response. His eyes remained fused with hers and when he flicked her clitoris with his thumb she strained forward, grunting softly.

“Tell me,” he said. “Why are you clothed?”

The lips that had been clamped together to stop herself from moaning fell apart. His languorous hand movements were making it difficult to think.

“Uhhh . . . you want me to focus . . . sir.”

He paused. “That is correct. I want your core to be the centre of your attention for this session. Why, then, haven’t I told you to expose yourself to me?”

“Because . . . uuhhh . . . you don’t want to see me, sir?”

“Incorrect. This session is not about me. It is about you. My needs are inconsequential.”

She nodded shakily.

“With that in mind, you will now use my hand to bring yourself to orgasm.” His fingers stopped their ministrations.

She closed her eyes. Riding his hand, letting him feel her stimulation preferences and watch her technique, using him for her own satisfaction. It all struck at the foundations of her inhibitions. She could feel her face burning again. What she did for herself, to herself, was personal. Like a secret. She didn’t want anyone knowing these things about her. Because if they knew, then what? They would have some power over her? They could use it against her? She would be vulnerable to blackmail, to betrayal?

As these thoughts tumbled around in her mind, his fingers remained still inside her and she knew he was watching the furious debate rage through her.

The strength of her feelings, she knew, were proportional to her need to let them go. She dealt with vulnerability on a daily basis. People cracked open and bleeding before her. Her holding their barely pumping hearts in her hands. She absolutely had to learn to do the same. To earn the right to treat them, she needed to be prepared to expose herself, to be vulnerable, to bleed too.

And so she started by rocking her hips. With his elbow braced against his knee, his fingers yielded little and she was able to gain considerable penetration simply by sinking herself down and spreading her legs further. His face gave away little but his eyes seared her like hot irons. She absolutely couldn’t look at him without wanting to collapse into a shuddering ball of pure mortification so she closed her eyes to focus, breathing heavily through her nose.

As she slid herself up and down, she rocked forward, her clitoris bumping against his rigid thumb, sending jolts of pleasure through her core. At risk of losing her balance with her eyes closed, she clutched at her own bare thighs.

“Can I touch you, sir?” she asked in a small voice.

“No.”

Holding herself tighter, she tried thrusting down onto him with more force but it left her feeling so light-headed and disoriented with her eyes closed that she had to stop. Finally, she opened her eyes.

“I can’t do it, sir.”

“Tell me why.”

“The dissonance is too much. The . . . intimacy of having your fingers inside me and the disconnect of not being able to touch you are cancelling each other out and I . . . just can’t make it work.”

He appraised her, gently tapping her clitoris with his thumb as he did so. Her jaw clenched further each time he did.

“You may touch my hand and arm.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Thank you, sir.”

Sliding her hands down, she grasped his pale forearm with one and cradled the back of the hand inside her with the other.

Then she began pushing him up into her at the same time as she sank down, guiding his fingers along the walls of her pussy while pushing his thumb against her clitoris. Her fingers clutched at the lean muscles of his forearm every time she pushed into him, then slid back along his warm skin as she dragged her pussy away with a soft sucking sound. It struck her that his arm felt almost phallic in the way she was stroking it with each of her thrusts. Opening her legs wider, she clenched the walls of her pussy as tightly as she could, drawing him in.

She found her rhythm and slid up and down him easily, focusing on the twitching muscles in his arm so she could avoid his gaze. Then, shifting her knees a little, she found a new position where she could rock harder and faster into him.

“Uuuhhhh,” she moaned as she felt the pressure building inside her. Her eyelids fluttered closed but with his arm to steady her, she didn’t lose her rhythm. With increasing intensity, she began slamming herself down onto him, pressing her hand against the back of his to force his fingers deeper. She also pushed his thumb more urgently against her clitoris and was now simply digging the nails of her other hand into his forearm.

Her breathing came in gasps as the muscles of, not only her core, but her thighs, back, buttocks and abdomen started to clench ready for take-off. When she was almost there, she released his hand and grabbed his thumb in her fist, jiggling it frantically against her clit.

“Ohhh, unnnhhhh,” she cried out as she came, riding his fingers in spasmodic waves as her entire lower half convulsed. She continued to grind against him with each contraction, wringing out every shuddering thud of colliding muscles until she was spent, simply twitching and ticking around him.

When she opened her eyes, the corner of his mouth was slightly hitched and his eyebrow raised in what she could only guess was surprise.

She gave a small, shuddering sigh and a shy smile in return before releasing his mauled arm from her grip.

He sat back in his seat, his forearm resting against his knee as juice dripped from his fingers onto the floor between his feet.

Sinking down to rest on her heels, she put her hands on the bed beside her for support, her thighs shaking with exhaustion.

“What have you learned about desire and gratification?” he asked.

She continued to draw in deep breaths through her nose.

“That people may sometimes want you to use them to gratify your desires, sir?”

“Good. Anything else?”

“That feeling connected to them, for me, is an important part of it.”

He gave a small nod before raising his glistening fingers. “Have you ever tasted your own desire?”

She slowly shook her head, looking dubious.

He raised his chin to peer at her. “Why would someone consume another person’s secretions for sexual pleasure?”

Hermine frowned. “I . . . I’m not sure I ever fully understood that . . . inclination.”

Snape sighed. “That’s your job. To understand such mindsets.” He leaned forward and grasped her around the back of the neck, pulling her forward so that her eyes were level with his. “Don’t . . . judge.”

Her breathing quickened with his firm touch.

Then he brought his hand up to her face, her nostrils filling with her own musky scent.

“When you taste your own arousal, when you desire your own desire, do you understand what a potent symbol that is for your body?”

Hermione let his words sink in and on some level they made sense to her.

“Show me.”

Tentatively, she put her tongue out and licked the tip of his index finger. It had a light salty, sweet flavour, not as strong as she would have expected.

“And the rest.”

Looking at his liberally coated fingers, she discovered that she wasn’t averse to the instruction. And, if she were honest, it wasn’t because of the inoffensive flavour, it was the opportunity to suck on those long, elegant digits that had already brought her so much pleasure.

Partly shocked and partly pleased to discover herself thinking such things after only two ‘lessons’, Hermione grasped his wrist with her hand and proceeded to lick him from the base of his palm, to the tip of his finger. She delved down to the webbing between to collect the wells of arousal that had pooled there before swallowing and continuing on. When she came to his middle finger, she approached it from the top and slid her lips down over it, sucking it deeply into her.

“Stop,” he growled, squeezing the back of her neck tightly but not painfully.

“What desire are you trying to express?”

She found herself having difficultly opening her eyes to look at him as her lids were heavy after her intent focus on servicing his fingers.

“I . . . I’m not sure what you mean, sir,” she mumbled.

“A desire for me. Or a desire for you?”

Even though she knew it was wrong. It was well and truly a desire for him.

“Adhere to my instructions,” he snapped.

With that, she finished licking the remainder of her arousal from him, focusing on collecting every visible drop.

When he released her and sat back, she could tell he was displeased. “That’s desire, is it?”

Hermione returned his stare, unsure of what to say.

Standing, he pushed the chair away with his boot and began unbuttoning his coat around the collar, doing the same with the buttons of his white shirt. When he’d finished, both were gaping at the neck and she caught a glimpse of the twisted scar there.

“Lie on your back.” He ordered. “Legs apart.”

Hermione didn’t take her eyes from him as she shuffled herself up the bed and lay down, her legs slightly separated.

“Are you looking to defy every instruction?”

She spread them further, only just managing to stop herself putting her hands over her face. It was excruciating to be opening herself up to him so blatantly, even after everything he already knew of her.

In a distinctly feline action, he leaned over and crawled up the bed until his arms were on either side of her thighs.

“Let me show you what desire is supposed to look like,” he said, staring into her eyes as he grasped a knee in each large hand and pushed her legs open until her glistening channel was gaping. Before she could respond, he lunged forward and captured one entire fleshy labia, sucking it hard into his hot mouth.

“Fuck!” she hissed, teeth clenching in a rictus of sensate shock as her hips leapt from the bed. A guttural groan ground out of her as he tugged at the engorged lip with his teeth before delving back down to capture the other one with as much raw abandon. Mouth stretched wide, he sucked hungrily at the pink flesh of her inner lips before grinding his nose against her clitoris and nipping at the tight skin around her opening.

She felt herself hyperventilating, a high-pitched keening sound bursting out with each breath. His slick face rocked and rolled over her, totally unselfconsciously, before suctioning on to her clitoris, flicking and whipping his tongue over it in a frenzy of serpentine undulations as she bucked uncontrollably. Finally, he delved deep into her pussy with his tongue, pulling out and digging back into her from every angle, licking over and around her lips and clitoris before slamming back into her. Her entire lower half was rocking around like a deer being mauled by a lion.

The raw carnality of his actions was so overwhelming that after only a few rounds with his pounding tongue she came spectacularly, screaming as her release squirted into his mouth and gushed down his chin. He didn’t stop rolling his face over and into her until her thighs had completed their final convulsive shudder. When her moans had died away, he came up for air, his tousled black mane framing his glistening face as he sucked in deep breaths.

“Got it?”

“I think so . . . sir.”
- 6
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In Their Hands *Complete*

In Their Hands Complete