[identity profile] sshg-smutmod.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] sshg_smut
Title: Perthro
Author: (anonymous for now)
Summary: Hermione asks Severus to help teach her about sexual magic. It's a hands on methodology of teaching.
Prompt: Hermione is the brightest witch of her age, but there is some magic, particularly the sexual arts, that she's unfamiliar with. She's not a virgin by any means (maybe past relationship with Harry or Ron), but she needs a tutor.
Prompter: [livejournal.com profile] lrthunder
Warnings: There is some vine aided sex, but not vine sex. So nothing to squick anyone I think.
Notes: Sorry to the prompter. It wasn't what I wanted to gift you, but death and depression conspired against me. Un-betaed because I had twelve hours to write this. Some of my runes are made up. Perthro is the rune for vagina.



“Miss Granger.”

God his voice, butterflies fluttered awake in my stomach.

“Professor Snape.”

He grins at my cockiness, taking the hand I offered, rejecting the handshake to kiss it, his lips soft and warm.

I tried to think of small talk as we stood side by side watching Draco smile brightly at the staff around him.

A waiter passed Snape slipped two glasses off the tray, offering me one with the quiet dignity that he wore like a second skin.

“Have you decided?”

He made a small noise. “I have.”

I turned my head then, but he remained eyes to the front. I waited impatiently, eyes on his face, the line of his nose, the single dark eye I could see from my position, his thin lips.

“I will not get better looking as you stare.”

I scoffed, “I am waiting for your decision.”

“Are you?” He turned then looking down his nose at me, “I would have thought my standing here was answer enough.”

I couldn't help it I smiled.

“I've found, Sir, that it's best if all things are clearly stated up front.”

He nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Then you should call me Severus Hermione. It would be inconsiderate for me to bring you to my bed as you call me Sir.”

He turned once again to the front of the room.

“Unless you have an interest in such things.”

I laugh.


One *

The first time we meet is at a hotel, neutral zone. He's sitting at one of those tiny tables for two that only make you knock knees and scuff each other's shoes.

I don't even need to see the hand that he raises to know where he is when I pan the room. I spot that head of hair, and a glimpse of all black and move towards it.

The conversation is easy: how am I enjoying America? What will I be dragging him into next at work? Easy stuff.

He doesn't ask why I left home, why I broke up with the supposed love of my life, not one of the difficult questions the dates I had couldn't help but to ask.

Maybe it's because he knows, or has no interest. I'd like to think it's because he understands wanting to be more than the person you are at eighteen, following the path laid out for you.

When he stands and offers his hand, my throat dries, my pulse speeds up. I take the offered hand with all the bravery my house is known for.

The room is beautiful, bordering on opulent—wizarding spaces generally are here. America believes in go big or go home in all things.

We don't speak. I don't know if I can anyway. My pulse is racing. I wonder if he can feel it where we touch.

Severus leads me to the bedroom. The bed is a Louis the XV number. The fabric is the colour of fresh blood or roses. Upper-class whore house, my mother would say; too much red in a bedroom.

Severus stands behind me, and he doesn't speak. He just stands there. His presence smothering me from behind, his scent-fougere, amber, and a hint of the herbs he worked with.

“Is there anything I should know Hermione?”

I almost giggle that he's waited until now to ask. Gee, I hate to be held tightly, don't touch my curse scars—oh yeah, I have curse scars. I sometimes wake up screaming in the night; don't touch me!

“The usual. I lived through a war. I'm sensitive about my scars, and it's best you make a noise before you touch me if I fall asleep.”

I can hear the smile in his voice as he replies, “Understood.”

“And you?”

“The same.”

I nod in understanding.

He strips me by hand, touching me as if starved for contact with skin. I know he's not.

I know this is all part of what I wanted to know: sexual magic. I've read the books, but it's different being in the moment.

He's still fully dressed and I am down to panties, bra, and heels, and he's made no move to undress. I try to figure out the next step, but go blank as Severus comes around and stands in front of me.

I tackle his buttons; he raps my knuckles and smiles as he admonishes me.

“Don't.”

I let my hands fall, and watch his face instead.

His eyes are hooded. He glides to his knees and offers his hands. There is a moment of blankness; what should I do? This is nothing like the books!

Then he taps my ankle. I lift my foot, pretending not to see the smile tugging the corner of his lips.

When my shoes are off he stands, offering his hand again, guiding me to the centre of the room.

I am so far out of my depth, I stand fighting the urge not to over myself with my hands as he throws his jacket onto the bed slipping off his own shoes and socks.

I thought that at this point we'd be naked, at least one of us, that he would have anointed my body with oil, or used runes, or potions, or something!

Instead I'm in my underwear, he his shirt sleeves.

Then he comes back to me barefoot, smiles in the way I've become used to seeing across the lab the few times we work together: small, tight, and reassuring.

I take a deep breath, returning his smile. He starts to circle me.

I don't know the language he speaks in. Semetic? Arabic or Amharic, I'd guess.

He walks speaking in an almost conversational tone, and each place he's touched before tingles, then warms.

The trail where his fingertips brushed from the base of my spine up to my hair line pulses with pleasure.

I try to view this in an academic fashion; his touch shouldn't be doing this. This is not possible! I know everything isn't in a book, but this? Never mentioned as possible.

And he keeps speaking, singing in that voice. My skin writhes in pleasure.

I watch him walk and when it seems like all I can do is scream what the fuck are you doing to me! Then it happens; whatever he's saying electrifies my body. I am one great ball of want.

Desire eats me from inside, trying to claw its way out. My body is strung tight, hanging, waiting for the final touch.

I moan.

It is guttural, primitive, perfect.

Severus stands in front of me, his eyes staring. He's waiting for something, but I have no idea what he could be waiting on.

I try to speak, but words fail me. I moan again, then I beg.

“Please...”

He touches me. A finger brushed over my pebbled nipples.

Oh.

He touches the other, his finger making a path to my panties, and I fight to breathe. My body trembles, and I can't figure out how I'm standing. Oh right, magic.

One long pale finger brushes over my mons, and whatever he's started connects.

It's a sinuous movement that steals my breath. I feel myself clamp down on nothing. My clitoris thrums, my nipples harden even more, and along my spine my orgasm climbs until my head shatters, my brain shuts down. I grab for my magic to keep me up but come away with nothing. I scream my orgasm through my dry throat.

I fragment, he catches me as I fall.


One point five*

I awake to a moonlit room.

He hands me a glass of water, sitting and watching me from the foot of the bed.

“Speechless, Hermione?”

I shake my head.

“I have so many questions. I don't know where to start. Where did you learn that?”

He gives a pleased little shrug.

“I translated it myself. Caliguian, early in his rise, before the madness took him.”

I look at him in awe. The reality that he can teach me much much more than I ever expected threatens to overwhelm me


Two *

In the middle of the winding path that links magic and sex, he brings me to the old growth forest. Magic is thick here. It leeches into you. It is perfect for our needs.

Tonight I will be Atalanta, he Hippomenes.

This is from the books I've read, the pleasure of the hunt. I want to be hunted where there is no life or death outcomes. Nothing stands balanced on this chase but which of my varied fantasies comes true.

Is it sad I recognize that it also calls to the girl I was that the boys overlooked? To play this game of desire, to revel in the most primal of traditions, hunter and hunted, to be wanted passionately.

Severus disappears into the dark, one moment walking behind me and the next, gone. That is my signal. I run.

I try to not make too much noise, stay within view of the path but not on it, keep the slip of a moon somewhere in my peripheral vision.

I try to ignore the awareness that this is turning me on, that he is out there hunting me. I've had this man in a bed; he is a powerful wizard, and he is hunting me for mutual pleasure. My pussy beats along with my pulse, and something else, something more.

I do as he's told me and welcome the strange feeling that sweeps me along, pushing me, forging me stronger, guiding me.

Run

There is a noise to my right. I sprint left, forgetting about not hurting the undergrowth (magic will protect it), about not keeping too much noise. I know it's him!

I hit my stride. I have absolutely no idea where I am going; magic is leading me.

I feel powerful, unstoppable. I look up. The stars are bright in the sky, the moon is hidden behind clouds, and I fight the urge to whoop in celebration at the freedom I feel.

Stop.

I drag myself to a stop, fingertips using a tree to stop my momentum.

Around me the forest is still, the animals are silent. Something is hunting and they do not want to bring its attention to themselves. He is near.

I hug the tree, nails digging into the moss covering the giant trunk. I've been running for a while; the rest feels good.

Move!

The magic drags me away from the path I was on before, not forward, back, slow, low.

I inch along a felled tree three times my height, fighting the urge to run. I will know when it is time. Now is the time for prudence. I keep moving low, close to the ground, silently.

I stoop at the remnants of the base of a tree. There is a cleared spot ahead that I am clearly meant to run across. The moon inches out from behind the clouds, helping the predator. In this moment magic has conspired with nature to give me my perfect fuck.

Run!

I flat out run. I'm more than half way across the clearance when I see him, a black blur from above. He sets down at the edge and stalks me. I can go into the forest and prolong this, or I can make this last stretch count.

I mark his path and dart away, watching as he moves to intercept me. A thought niggles at me: why should I remain prey?

I apparate behind him. He turns as my feet set down, much faster than I thought he would have. Fuck!

He has my wrist in a moment, and I fight him.

He laughs at my fight, not even winded, the bastard.

He moves me with him, taking me back into the forest I'd come from, smiling at my resistance; no prey is taken easily.

He pitches his voice low.

“You gave me quite a chase. The forest helped you, didn't she?”

I nod. I have no breath to waste on chatter.

“You've pleased the spirit of the forest.”

He looks at me admiringly. There is a fierce look in his eye. I wonder if I mirror the same look.

We stand at the edge of the clearance, my wrist in his large hands still from when I struggled pathetically, standing under a huge tree trunk carpeted with moss.

He presses me into the tree, dropping my hands. I rush to undress him. He smirks against my lips. Our clothes vanish.

Magic brushes against me, the forest still aware of all we do.

The moss against my back is a cool carpet, the earth under my feet warm and moist. Severus presses me back, hand urging my leg up. He runs a finger between my lips, follows it with a slap from his prick that electrifies my clit, making me buck.

Something warm threads its way up my leg. I open my mouth to scream but his hand clamps over my mouth as I start to push him away.

“No, don't! It's the forest. I promise it is safe, Hermione.”

He moves his hand, and I look down, at the thing touching me: a vine. It starts to curl its way up, and then another, and they are lifting me, spreading me wide.

Severus kisses me, pulling my mind away from the vine.

His kiss devours me. I forget where we are. I am my desire.

He breaks the kiss, lowering himself to his knees, his hands alongside the vine holding me open.

He lowers his face to my cunt. Taking a deep breath, his mouth descends.

He uses his mouth, and nose. He fucks me with his tongue while the tip of his nose brushes my clit, takes laps of me from perineum to clit, then wraps his wicked tongue around my clit, sucking me until I keen to the forest. Then does it again.

When he finally stands, I'm a trembling mess. I hold onto two thick vines and more wrap themselves around my chest, under my armpits, under my breasts; they keep me from sliding down, boneless as I am from pleasure.

He enters me in one smooth thrust. I feel tighter than I ever have before, swollen. Every thrust brushes my g-spot, building my orgasm. I fight to grind against him, to help him; he digs his fingers into my hips, keeping me still, fucking me how he wants to.

His breath is ragged against my ear, the scent of my pussy strong with his face so close to mine.

His pace quickens. It's almost punishing, and I love it! My g-spot feels swollen, as if the whole length of him presses against it as he strokes. I come clamping down on him, dragging his orgasm from him as my pussy holds him in a vice grip.


Two point five*

The book spread between us is old, the parchment near brittle. If not for magic it would have fallen apart decades ago.

Severus looks over the top of his glasses at me.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Sorry, I was wondering about any further archival processes that could help save the parchment. It'll be gone in a few more centuries.”

He nods in understanding.

“Later. First listen.”

This isn't what I had come to him to learn about; this was soul magic, but soul magic was so wrapped in sexual magic that it was impossible to learn about one without the other.

Severus was a thorough teacher, and this was the final step of the journey. I knew he hoped that I would one day use what I was taught with someone I loved.

I didn't know if it was possible that I could ever trust someone to allow them the freedoms that were needed.

I watch his finger glide just over the page, showing me just where and when the magic should be invoked.

Well, maybe.


Three*

My tummy tumbles and flips. Severus stands before me naked, willing and waiting.

It is a bit like NEWTS, I think, just naked.

I run the runes over and over in my head, and step closer to him, wand in hand. Perthro at svadhishthana, tihzah at anahata. Severus begins to tremble at my substitutions.

He would have to bow his head for me to reach sahasrara. Breath coming hard and fast, eyes wide looking at me like he has no idea who I am, he lowers his head.

The wand movement is complicated. I take my time before stepping back, my eyes going to his face.

The question on his pale face is clear. “Are you sure?”

I grip my wand tighter, and wait. Here is his chance to walk away. He stands straight, giving me a sharp nod.

His eyes challenge me: do it!

I invoke, Sanskrit tying my tongue up. The knowledge that I am doing it correctly an answering path of warmth up my own body where I had drawn the runes before leaving home.

Merlin, it feels good!

The runes drive me to move. I reach a hand out, running it down his chest, the dusting of black hair trailing down to his prick.

His skin is fire under my fingers. I hold his prick in my hand, heavy, pre-cum beading the tip, a molten column in my hand.

He runs a thumb over my nipple. I shiver.

There is no taking allowed after the invocation. I want to ask him what I feel like, but I can't.

Instead we move towards the bed.

Severus sits and urges me over him. There is no need for foreplay; my legs are slick with moisture.

I slide down his length slowly, inch by magnificent inch until there is no further to go. His hair brushes my clit.

He takes my nipple in his mouth, sucking on it, teasing it with his teeth.

I buck at his attentions, and moan as his head bumps my cervix, but there is no pain. The magic of the runes trans-mutates it to pleasure.

He thrusts up, and I meet him on the upstroke, and there is that pleasure-to-pain moment again. He grips my hips and moves me to suit our needs, to hit that place each time. My nails mark his back.

He fucks me as if possessed, and maybe he is. I feel as if I am.

I want this, him, the pleasure and the pain.

He fucks me, and I open myself, I yield.

I scream inside for him to be rougher, harder, yes! And he hears me.

We fuck until sweat runs freely down our backs, and his flesh is under my nails, until we are nothing but bodies climbing a mountain of pleasure.

Then it happens, when we are unthinking beasts seeking only pleasure: the runes open wide with the colour of blood, scenting the air with myrrh and frankincense.

I feel his magic pour into me, and mine his.

There is nothing else left in the world but the man between my legs and I. We spiral an ouroboros of pleasure, unable to disconnect. We become one, his magic on my tongue tinted black and powerful, bound for a lifetime.

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