[identity profile] sshg-smutmod.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] sshg_smut
Title: Perfume
Author: (anonymous for now)
Summary: Severus presents Hermione with a very special perfume for her birthday.
Prompt: Severus experiments with perfume.
Prompter: [livejournal.com profile] lenaa1987
Warnings: Lemons.
Notes: n/a



Severus Snape was a planner.

A planner—unlike in his youth, when rash decision after rash decision plagued his life and nearly got him killed more times than he could remember. Years of stretching himself between an insane Dark Lord and a manipulative Headmaster taught him that deliberate planning could very likely save his scrawny ass. And he’d become quite good at it, thank-you-very-much.

Now, though, Severus was trying to plan for something and, for the first time in his adult life, he simply couldn’t figure out what to do.

Hermione’s birthday was approaching, and he had no idea what to give her.

He had avoided it last year. They had become lovers October last, just a few scant weeks after her birthday. By Christmas, they had decided they would go on holiday together, and mutually agreed that their weekend in Paris would be their present to each other; he had escaped Hogwarts and his Headmaster duties, and she had taken a much-needed vacation from her position at the Ministry.

He smiled wickedly to himself. They hadn’t left the hotel room for four days, never bothering to dress, and not even bothering to visit the Eiffel Tower. Damn, his witch knew how to fuck him until he couldn’t think straight. And it was glorious.

He shook off the delicious memory. It was important that he focus, to determine what to do. They were nearly a year into their relationship and now living together, and a birthday was a pivotal time: he needed to express how serious he was about them, about her. He couldn’t fuck this up.

Hermione meant too much to him.

But what did wizards give for birthdays, anyway? Jewelry was out; he was saving that for Christmas, having already decided it would be an engagement ring. By then, it would be time. Valentine’s Day had been easy: a bouquet of flowers and chocolates he had made himself. She had seemed pleased, doting over the flowers and hand feeding him the chocolates.

Hermione had a sense of smell that rivaled his own, and the mix of blooms he had chosen complimented each other perfectly. He smiled at the memory of her closing her honey eyes to breathe in the aroma of the flowers…and then thanking him in a way only his little minx could have.

For her birthday, however, he wanted to give her something more lasting than either candy or flowers. Something romantic but not trite. Something memorable. Something special, perhaps something crafted by his own hand. And then, after weeks of agonizing over her gift, it came to him.

Perfume.

He was a Potions Master, for Merlin’s sake. He would make her some perfume.
And maybe the infusion of just a little magic might make the perfume a sight more… interesting for both of them.




In truth, what Severus was designing was more potion than perfume, but it was more complicated than anything he’d developed in a long time. He spent weeks brewing the basic substrate, refining it until it was as clear as the crystal bottle he’d purchased to present it to her.

Then he spent weeks perfecting the magic that would connect her perfume with the potion he had concocted for himself.

When it was done and he had tested it, he actually laughed out loud. This was going to be fabulous.




“Happy birthday, Hermione,” he said, pressing a deep blue velvet bag into her hand. She eyed him curiously and pulled the drawstring open. The lead crystal bottle shimmered in the candlelight as she turned it in her hand.

“It’s lovely, Severus. Thank you. What’s…?”

“It’s perfume,” he said levelly.

“Did you make it?”

“Yes.”

Hermione smiled at him and shifted her fingers to open the bottle.

“Wait,” he said, staying her hand with his own when she moved to pull out the stopper. “It’s not ordinary perfume.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“It will evoke specific desires in you when you wear it.”

“Oh,” she breathed. She bit her lip and continued to stare at him, her honey brown eyes deepening in colour.

“It works like this,” Severus said, nearly letting out a growl while he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Your perfume will have no fragrance when you apply it. Once I apply a special cologne to myself—one which is magically tied to yours—your perfume will emit a scent. As it does, it will suggest things to you through its magical bond with mine.” He nibbled down her neck. “These… suggestions will steer you in a certain direction; they are proposals rather than commands, and they will vary depending on your mood. Each proposition will call to mind things you already find… enjoyable.”
He pulled back and smirked suggestively. “The effects will last varying amounts of time.”

She swallowed. “Sweet Merlin, Severus.”

“The perfume will never compel, it will only… evoke a desire for a specific experience. If it makes you uncomfortable, you may stop at any time by simply telling me. It is not the Imperious.”

“So my perfume is odorless when it is first applied?”

“Correct. Its scent is released only when I apply mine. But the scent is tied to the suggestion. Each time, your perfume will change.”

It was her turn to smile wickedly.

“Can we try some now?” she purred.

Now there’s my little minx.

“Of course,” he murmured. “Place it here…” He suckled the inside of her wrist. “And perhaps here…” He laved behind her ear.

She sighed appreciatively.

As Hermione opened the bottle and began to dab the clear liquid up and down the skin over her jugular and her left wrist, Severus retreated to their bathroom to apply his counterpart. The scent of his cologne floated through their room, musky and sweet, with notes of suede, leather, and sandalwood.

What would be a good first experience with the perfume? Perhaps something easy, something well within their usual evening repertoire? He closed his eyes and pictured Hermione sitting on his lap, kissing him hard, unbuttoning his trousers and touching him. What would the perfume smell like when she pictured herself on his lap?

He returned to the sitting room, anxious to watch her reaction to his suggestion and breathe in the scent of it. By the time he reached the doorway, Hermione’s eyes were already closed and her head was tilted back on the pillows of the couch.

“Oh…” she breathed, her face flushed.

As if she sensed him watching her, her eyes fluttered open and she turned to look at him hungrily. He could smell her perfume now, jasmine, tuberose, and ylang ylang toying with his cologne in the air. It made him lightheaded.

He approached her, commanding the lights with a wordless Nox. Now, even in the dim moonlight falling through the window, he could see her eyes were dark with desire, the heady scent of her arousal mingling with the fragrances in the air. He sat down next to her. She straddled him immediately, sighing as she kissed him and threading her hands in his hair. His cock twitched and strained against the wool of his pants as she pressed into him, her hips already beginning to grind and roll.

She shifted backwards towards his knees, giving herself space to unfasten the placket of his trousers and release the zipper; she dragged the cotton of his underwear aside, freeing him. His cock was already weeping and throbbing, begging for attention. Wrapping her fingers firmly around him, she dove into pleasuring him, wiping sticky precum up and down his length. He stayed her hand, wanting more time.

“Easy,” he murmured around their kiss.

At that she rose, peeling off her denims and sending them across the floor. She was back on his lap in an instant, the silk of her knickers the only barrier between them now. He threaded his fingers in her curls and drew her towards him for another deep, searing kiss. She responded with another sigh. Salazar’s fucking balls, even though he wanted to draw it out, there was no way he was going to last.

Fuck it.

Silently, he vanished her knickers to the laundry. The sudden sensation of skin on skin elicited a gasp from both of them; he maneuvered slightly and entered her in one deep stroke.

Her breath hitched.

“Oh,” she whimpered in his ear.

She began to move. Using the pillows on the couch behind him as leverage, she lifted up and sank back down onto him over and over again. She rose so high with each stroke, he nearly lost their coupling; she fell so deeply, she gained his entire length. Everything inside her was soft and warm, from the tight walls encasing his cock to the stop of flesh he felt at the tip of his head, preventing him from going any deeper—it was the end of her. And it was incredible.

She moaned as she drew him in and out; her head was thrown back and her eyes closed. She was close. They both were.

She came a moment later with a keening cry, sinking her nails into his shoulder and freezing in mid-stroke. He chased after her, his own orgasm exploding inside her as he poured himself into her pulsing flesh.

He gave the witch on his lap—his witch—time to still her breath. He kissed her forehead tenderly, feeling his lips twitch into a smile.

“How was that, love?” he whispered.

“Delicious,” she sighed.

He huffed a laugh.

“Perhaps something different next time?” she asked languidly.

“How about this? Since the first taste was…enjoyable, wear your perfume all of the time and I will not tell you when I apply mine.”

“So, I will never know exactly when you will trigger the perfume or what it will make me feel?”

“Yes. That would be part of the game,” he breathed in her ear. “But you will smell yours the moment I apply mine. It will give you a forewarning, however brief.”

She moaned delightedly.

He took that to mean that she did, indeed, enjoy her birthday present.




Two Days Later

Hermione had been home for little more than an hour, sitting on the couch, enjoying a glass of red wine and September’s Quibbler when she sensed lavender and vanilla—perhaps bergamot, too?—followed immediately by a sudden craving that made her flush.

She flipped the magazine shut and rose to pace the floor, unsettled and antsy. Sweet Merlin, he triggered the perfume, hadn’t he? She hadn’t seen him since she came home from work. Where was he? A second wave of desire took her, warmly spreading from her stomach down below her navel, lodging between her thighs. She froze and bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry out into the empty room.

Bedroom, the perfume whispered.

She stumbled out of the sitting room, casting off her jumper and shirt and abandoning them to the floor along the way. Stopping at the doorway to their room, she toed off her trainers.

Bed. Now.

She yanked off the cover and threw back the sheets, wiggling out of her denims and clawing off her socks, leaving only her knickers and bra. Her skin had started to burn. She laid down on the bed; the clean white sheets felt cool and inviting on her bare back.

This ache would consume her if she didn’t touch herself soon. She slid one finger down her body to caress her clit, sighing in relief as she rubbed it gently; she abandoned it momentarily to dip in the slick folds of skin just beyond. The layers were dripping wet, pillowy, and warm to the touch. She moved her attention back to the hardened nub, drawing circles with the tip of her damp finger. Her clit throbbed deliciously.

But one finger focused on her clit, however delicious, was not enough.

Snaking her other hand down her leg and spreading her thighs wider, she slid two fingers inside her core, keeping her forefinger from the other hand on her nub.
Her knickers were in the way, dammit. She silently vanished them to the laundry. Better.

Now, with her fingers tight inside her warmth and her other hand moving to pleasure her clit, she closed her eyes in delight. More…more…right at the edge…harder…faster…just a little more…the aroma of lavender and vanilla sweetened the air…more…more…and her body went rigid with release.

Oh…oh!” she bit out, stilling her fingers and soaking in the aftermath.

In the haze of the just-after, through the fierce-but-slowly-fading throbbing, Hermione smelled the suede and leather of his cologne. She opened her eyes to find Severus leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, his arms and ankles crossed, a grand smirk on his face. He approached her slowly, coming to stand at the edge of the bed to look down at her, his dark eyes on fire. She froze, fingers still in place.

“Don’t stop,” he murmured, his velvet voice thick with desire. “I want to watch you.”

He unbuttoned his shirt slowly. Once it was undone, he dragged the white fabric out of his trousers, stripping himself of it in one elegant movement. He unfastened his pants, stepped out of the grey wool, and removed his underwear. Locking his eyes on hers, he palmed himself—keeping his obsidian stare steady—and began drawing his hand up and down his cock. He started languidly, increasing in speed until he was panting.

Hermione thought she might come again just watching him. Sweet Merlin, listening to the slap of his hand on his cock made her jaw ache; she started to drag her fingers in and out of her core once again, matching the timing of his strokes with her own.

Oh, she was so close again, so soon. She bit her lip and shut her eyes to concentrate, letting her body fall into the pulse of the recent orgasm still echoing within her. She found the rhythm easily, crying out as she broke apart once more.

Panting, she stilled her hands but once again left them where they were.

As her breath returned, the bed dipped; she felt her lover settle down next to her, ghosting a kiss on her lips and placing his hands on top of hers, signaling to her not to move them. She opened her eyes to see him planting kisses down her body, his soft, dark hair tickling her belly and abdomen as it brushed her skin. He shifted to position himself below her on the bed, splaying his fingers and running them up and down her inner thighs as he gently pushed her legs outward, widening the entrance to explore her.

“Let me help you,” he growled, and she moaned her reply.

His fingers joined hers on her clit, moving in sync with the faint pulse pulling at her blood. He bent further towards her to couple his tongue with his fingers. She hitched her breath. His soft, wet tongue became harder and more insistent with each lave against her nub.

A moment later, he dragged her hands away; he took over completely, blending his tender fingers and his warm tongue so expertly that she gasped. After a few blissful minutes, he withdrew his fingers from her clit; she mourned their loss until he thrust them deep inside her core, sending her over the edge again.

She came, a mewling and writhing mess beneath him.

And he clung to her as her perfume vanished from the air.




One Month Later

Hermione fingered the parchment and smiled. It had been delivered by owl-post that morning to her office at the Ministry. She unrolled it again, revealing Severus’s elegant script.

Meet me at Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester in Muggle London tonight at 8pm. Wear your green dress, your silver heels, and your birthday present.

At quarter to eight, she slid into her long, silk dress and removed the stopper on the crystal bottle that contained her gift. The perfume touched her skin like a whisper, kissing her neck with a promise of pleasure.

She sank into her high heels and Apparated to Muggle London. Ten minutes later, she walked into Alain Ducasse to find the maître d' watching her expectantly. Severus must have described me…or maybe my dress.

“Miss Granger.” The host inclined his head in greeting. “A pleasure to have you with us this evening.”

“Thank you.”

“Monsieur Snape has secured Table Lumière for your enjoyment.”

With another half-bow and a grand gesture, he led her to the center of the restaurant, guiding her to a table in a near-private sanctuary surrounded by thousands of strands of white light falling from ceiling to floor. The incandescent ribbons allowed only colour and shadow through: to the eyes of the other diners outside the confines of the sanctuary, she would be a blurry figure in clothed in something dark.

Severus was not at the table. In fact, it had been set for one. Would she be dining alone?

“Monsieur Snape has ordered for you, Miss,” the maître d' commented as he pulled out her chair.

She raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

The sommelier appeared and placed a glass of amber wine in front of her and retreated without a word. Several others came in quick succession in his wake: a server filling a water goblet; another offering warm rolls; a third delivering a crab appetizer.

Well, it was late and she was hungry, and everything smelled superb. If the single place setting and the service were any indication, Severus wasn’t showing himself for a while. She took a sip of the wine, unrolled the napkin and placed it on her lap, and speared a bite of crab with her fork.

Vanilla, musk, and amber whispered in the air.

ohmygod

The fork dropped from her shaking hand onto the china with a ringing clatter.

This time, a warm hum of desire did not spiral slowly down from her belly to her core. This time, desire crashed over her like a rough wave breaking, like a raw and demanding need in the pit of her stomach. It was both instantaneous and insistent, and it took every bit of restraint she had not to cry out from want, get on all fours, and beg someone to fuck her. If she didn’t have Severus inside her right now, she would kill.

Merlin, she was sitting in the middle of an elegant restaurant. The loo. She desperately needed to find the loo and collect herself.

She muscled her heavy chair away from the table in one swift motion and ran out into the open restaurant from behind the curtain of lights. Several startled diners glanced in her direction. She jogged down a carpeted hallway in her heels, panicked to find the toilet and barricade herself in until the crushing wave of desire passed.

Panting from both the want and the sprint, she pushed open a door to find herself in one of the restaurant’s private washrooms. Once inside, she swiveled to lean her weight against the back of the door, closed her eyes, and tried to still her breath and the longing between her thighs. Hot, wet desire dripped down her legs.

It was then that she detected the suede and leather of his cologne. She breathed it in, grateful.

Severus.

He lifted the Disillusionment charm, greeting her with a grand smirk.

Colloportus,” he growled, and she felt his magic ripple and settle on the door behind her, locking them in.

In a single stride he was on her, pinning her arms by the wrist above her head with one hand, the other hand laying siege to her breasts. Her dress gave way with a nasty tear. His tongue found hers, searing, probing, pushing; she met his urgency with her own and dragged him further down into her own need.

Harder. More.

She moaned and struggled in his grip. He freed her arms and she responded by fisting his hair with one hand and hiking her dress up with the other. She wrapped one leg around his waist; she felt him fumble with the placket on his trousers and release the zipper. He reached behind her to grab her arse until he was supporting her weight as she wound her other leg around him. With one quick motion, he thrust into her savagely, slamming her into the back of the washroom door and continuing to pound her roughly with each successive rock of his hips.

A moment ago she was sipping a Viognier in silk gown. Now she was getting fucked against the door to the toilet while desperately trying not to scream her lover’s name.

Severus bit her neck. His teeth on her skin, coupled with the push of his cock, sent her careening over the edge of her desire. She was falling, turning inside out, blinded by the white hot pulse in her blood. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as every muscle inside her clenched then released into brutally wild pulses.

A half-cry, half-grunt erupted from Severus’s throat and he froze mid-stroke, his eyes squeezed shut. She felt him spilling into her as his nails dug into her back. He shuddered, and her clit continued to throb mercilessly.

A moment later, he opened his dark eyes and greeted her with a wry smile.

“Hello,” Severus said, tenderly reaching up with one hand to tuck an errant curl behind her ear.

She gifted him a lazy smile in return.

“Hello,” she answered, still a bit breathless.

He set her down on shaky legs.

“That was fun,” she said, smiling more fully now.

“Yes, it was.” He bent to kiss her. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Dinner?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” he said in mock innocence.

She huffed a laugh. “Not anymore. But I will have dinner with you.”

Hermione turned to examine herself in the washroom’s mirror. Her curls had escaped the confines of her chignon; her ripped dress hung limply around her bra. Her lips felt bruised. Hell, they looked bruised. She hadn’t grabbed her handbag when she fled the table, so she wouldn’t be able to reapply her makeup. At least she could tame her hair and vanish what was left of the lipstick.

Reparo,” she said, pointing her wand at her dress as he buckled his belt.

“I’m ready,” she said smoothing down her dress and sliding into her discarded pumps.

Severus laced his fingers in hers and led her back to the table surrounded by curtains of light. Her food was gone. Two clean place settings graced the table. The moment they sat down, a steward delivered two new glasses of wine.

Muffliato,” he whispered when the last of the waitstaff had disappeared through the glowing ribbons that surrounded them.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“In case we would like to come back sometime,” Severus remarked with a smirk. “Unless, of course, you think it might be fun to get caught, my little minx.”

Her heart raced. Get caught? He can’t do that here. He wouldn’t…would he?

Raising the fabric of the tablecloth, he descended under the table. “You didn’t think we were through, did you?” he chuckled from beneath the table.

As the aroma of new leather and earthy suede wrapped itself around her, his warm hands slid up her inner thighs, parting them. A new fragrance skirted the edge of her senses, mingling with his—a heady, thick scent calling to mind a similar scent of leather, with a hint of rum and black pepper.

She fought the instinct to snap her legs shut. Shite.

Severus snaked one hand around the back of her arse and dragged her forward to the edge of the padded chair.

Other people could see us, the perfume murmured.

“No knickers tonight, Miss Granger?” he said in a velvet voice, his warm breath caressing the inside of her thighs.

“You didn’t list it on the owl-post,” she managed. “Only my dress, the shoes, and the perfume.”

“Indeed,” he said.

She felt his smile through his reply.

She jumped as his soft, warm tongue began to lick her, slowly, deliberately, exploring her folds and caressing her hardening clit. It felt so exquisitely blissful, she leaned into it and sighed.

Merlin, what if someone walks in?

Hermione shifted forward, rolling her hips back to point more of her core towards him. Her encouragement was enough: a moment later, his fingers breached her center. She gasped and sunk in her chair, moving her hips even farther down so Severus could get a better angle with his fingers. His tongue continued its exploration of her clit. Nothing had ever felt better than what he was doing to her, right now.

She grabbed the armrests of her chair until her knuckles went white.

Fuck.

The damask tablecloth was elegantly long, but not quite long enough to cover the fact that there was a man in a dark suit under the table pleasuring her.

Other diners might be able to see what we’re doing the perfume murmured in her ear. Do you think they would enjoy watching us? She felt herself getting decidedly more wet at the thought.

Faster, Severus. Please.

She felt him shift underneath the table, moving his hand so his palm pointed upward. Her lover found the spot that always sent her writhing and screaming his name. Biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut, she spread her legs wider as he stroked her into bliss with both tongue and finger.

The effort needed to suppress a moan nearly unhinged her.

She could hear the soft conversation of the patrons surrounding Table Lumière, the clinks of glass and ring of silverware as they enjoyed their meals. She could also hear Severus’s tongue licking her into oblivion.

Let me come before someone catches us.

There it was—the release she was chasing. Her body sprinted towards it, her grip tightening on the arms of her chair.

She stopped breathing.

ohmygod

She came with a wordless cry as a dizzying orgasm took her with a clench and a hard seize of muscle and sinew. Juices poured from her, messing her thighs, and her dress and, presumably, the chair.

She held on to the delicious throbbing as long as she was able.

As the hum in her core began to quiet, he withdrew his fingers; Hermione felt the tickle of Severus’s magic whisk away the damp from her skin and the silk beneath her. He clambered out from under the table, looking smug, saying nothing.

Hermione tried to breathe.

A moment later, their server appeared. “May I offer you anything else?”

“I’ve had my fill this evening, thank you,” he said. If it were possible, Severus looked even more smug at his own wit. “The cheque, when convenient.”

The waiter’s eyebrow lifted fractionally. “Very well, then,” he said, retrieving the folder from his tray.

Severus left an inordinate pile of Muggle money on the table. Hermione simply sat there, still too dazed to speak.

“Let’s go.”

He took her hand and led her out the restaurant and to the Apparition point in the alley nearby. He twisted them home, a satisfied look still on his face.




When Hermione and Severus arrived at their flat, she turned and kissed him slowly and deliberately.

“It’s your turn, now,” she said, nibbling on his ear then throwing off her heels. Her shoes hit the wall with a pleasing thump.

“Recovered, have we, my minx?”

“Care to freshen up with more cologne, Severus?” she purred.

His cock stirred.

He led her to their bedroom. “I’ll be right back,” he said, retreating to the bathroom to reapply the scent of leather and sandalwood and to remove his shirt.

When he returned, she was on the bed, propped up on her elbow, clothing banished to the floor. Rose, jasmine, and tuberose sighed in the air. This time, he wanted to make love to her much more slowly; he wanted to take his time with his witch.

Severus walked to the edge of the bed.

“You’re wearing far too much,” she said, cocking an eyebrow and smirking at him.
He gifted her a sly smile and stepped out of the rest of his clothes; she grabbed his hand and pulled him in the down into the soft bed with her.

“Mmmm…”

He brushed his fingernails up and down the length of her bare body—barely touching her skin. Severus breathed her in: the Hermione of her, her scent dancing with the rose and jasmine of the perfume. Her nipples pebbled in response.

She threw her head back and turned it to the side, granting him better access to her neck. He started to bite her, chewing her languidly; his throat emitted a low growl as his teeth raked clavicle, muscle, and tendon. She moaned in response and sent her fingernails down his back.

He shivered.

Yearning to watch her more closely, he stopped his assault on her neck and reached up to tenderly turn her face towards his. Staring into her honey brown eyes, he entered her ever so slowly, dragging himself in and out of her wet core as he watched pleasure transform her face. He laced his fingers with hers and pulled them over her head, casting all his weight gently on top of her. He felt her cross her ankles behind his arse to urge him further towards her, even deeper inside.

They came as one, a blinding burst of joining and fusing, absorbing each other’s pulse into their own.

When he finally lifted himself off her, spent, the loss nearly made him weep. Salazar’s balls, his thirst, his craving for this witch could never be sated.

Severus spooned up behind her and threw a lazy arm over her waist, dragging her in closer. She sighed contentedly.

“I love you,” Hermione said softly.

“And I, you,” Severus whispered into her ear.

And he closed his eyes to let sleep take him, the scent of rose and leather disappearing into the silence of the night.

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