The Burning Pen
by Ruth Solomon
The story content is adult in nature and can contain graphic sex and violence. Those under the age of 18 are asked to leave this site immediately. You are not welcome here. The author is not responsible for those under-aged who view these works.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All
situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
Chapter 5 ~ Expectations
"Hermione, what you are suggesting crosses the boundaries of a teacher/student relationship," Snape replied. "I am supposed to teach you—protect you—not—"
Snape's voice went a bit raw.
"Not 'worship' you," he concluded for lack of a better word.
"I want to know what it's like, what you mean by worship, professor. It would be teaching—in a way," Hermione said softly.
"We've already gone too far," Snape said. "I don't think it wise, Hermione."
He slipped his arm into one robe sleeve and then the other. Hermione watched as he tied the sash, her belly tight with disappointment. She walked toward him and Snape momentarily closed his eyes against her.
"I thought you said I was beautiful. I thought—you thought I was special."
Snape's dark eyes opened, first resting on her wet hair, then her face. Her brown eyes were hard, almost angry as she stood there, nude and still glistening from the water. A droplet slowly coursed down her temple and he fought the urge to retrieve it with the tip of his tongue.
"You are. And I do. You have always been special."
"I don't feel special. I feel like—like I'm a fraud," she blurted out. "And—and I'm scared everyone will find out that I'm not this fantastic person they've made me out to be. That there's nothing more to me than books and—and dumb luck. Even Ron finds me dull—and he knows me. Why else would he want to see other witches? And I'm standing here naked in front of you, and even you don't want me."
Snape shook his head slowly.
"It's not that I don't want you, Hermione. But, engaging you would bring complications. You are my student. To engage a stu—"
"I wouldn't be your student right now if not for the final battle. I'd be out of Hogwarts. I'm going to be twenty years old this year. I'm not a child—and—and—"
Hermione's voice faltered—
"For once in my life, I'd like to feel truly special. I'd like to feel the way you say I am—worthy to be worshipped, just because I'm me. Not a brain, not a hero—just me. I've never told anyone that before."
Snape just looked at her, the blank expression once again on his pale face. Suddenly, Hermione felt very ashamed of herself, and visibly wilted before Snape. She was begging him to shag her because of her low self-esteem and need for validation. And probably because of Ron, too. It was clear she was no longer attractive to him. She just wanted to be wanted by someone. How pitiful was that?
Hermione looked down at the floor, feeling as if she were less than nothing.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I know I'm—I shouldn't have tried to make you do this."
Hermione turned and walked back to the towels, her entire body colored pink with shame. With her back to Snape, she picked one up and began to dry her hair. Snape watched as she tossed it to one side and caught it between the fabric, stroking downward to pull away the water, the tangles turning to waves. He watched the flexing of her shoulder bones, the curving of her spine, the way her body shifted subtly, still beautiful in the soft light.
He could also feel her sadness and her shame. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone wanted to feel appreciated.
Her eyes wet, Hermione continued drying her hair, but she was listening closely for the door to open and close. For Snape to leave.
"My form of worship is most likely quite different than what you've experienced with Weasley," a soft voice suddenly said in her ear.
Hermione turned and found herself standing very close to Snape. His discarded robe was crumpled on the floor, next to the pool. Her breasts were only inches from his bare chest as he looked down at her.
"Professor—" she began.
"Sshh. I need you to listen, so you understand me and know what to expect from me," Snape said quietly, taking one of her hands in his, then gently caressing the knuckles before bringing the back of her hand to his lips and resting it against them.
He kissed the knuckle of her index finger tenderly, surrounding it with his warm mouth and suckling it gently before moving up her finger to the next knuckle and kissing it. He then moved to the top knuckle and repeated the kiss, turning her hand slightly. He then kissed the tops of all four fingers and turned her palm to face him. He pressed his lips to the fleshy mound beneath the thumb, his mouth moist and warm against the inner skin.
Hermione stared at him, her mouth slightly parted and eyes half lidded as kissed her palm several times, slowly and sensually, his fingers caressing the back of her hand until he ended his ministrations with a gentle kiss on her wrist.
"Oh—" Hermione breathed up at him as the corner of his mouth curved and pleasure flitted in his eyes. Gods, that was the sexiest, hottest thing she had ever felt.
Even if Snape didn't see the obvious desire in Hermione's eyes, he had felt the quickened pulse of her blood beneath his lips when they were pressed to the veins of her delicate wrist.
"I am slow," he said to her softly. "I don't rush. I savor. For this reason I have had few satisfying encounters—"
Hermione suddenly closed her mouth, aware that she was probably very lacking in sexual skills. She hadn't had a lot of practice. Maybe she wouldn't satisfy him.
"But, the reason they didn't satisfy me was because the scant partners I had were too impatient, and too—aggressive. I derive my pleasure from giving pleasure, not domination. I have little desire to put my—my cock in any place other than where it was meant to go. My mouth and my hands do all the other—exploring," he said softly. "I love the scent and feel and taste of a woman. I worship the landscape of her body, especially the parts taken for granted, like the crook of her arm, or the sensitive flesh of her armpit—the back of her knees, the sweep of her spine, the curve of her ankle, the arch of her foot—so many special places generally ignored."
"You don't like blowjobs?" Hermione asked him, surprised.
"I've had them, but it depends. They aren't necessary with me. As I said, I derive my pleasure by giving pleasure. You will have to be—patient with me. I am not the kind of wizard that goes hard and fast. I am slow. Easy."
Hermione was once again mesmerized. The way he described his technique was—was so different than what she believed wizards wanted during sex.
"It's the only time I can turn away from harshness," Snape continued softly. "The only time I can feel some physical semblance of tender connection in my life. Many women don't understand that need. They feel a man must pummel them to near unconsciousness to prove he's a man. I prefer to hear a woman sigh her pleasure than to screech it. I prefer to know her climax is a result of artful application, rather than beaten out of her. That brings me satisfaction. Unfortunately—it also makes the majority of women feel I'm not—good."
"You sound very good to me, Professor," Hermione breathed. Her entire body was tingling from head to toe and she wished with all her heart that he would just—show her.
"Call me Severus."
A/N: Another little bit. I'm draaaawing it out, aren't I? It's just fun to write Snape like this, especially his dialogue. No roughrider here. A tender Snape will do, too.
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