After Midnight
- by Anne

[All the usual disclaimers apply - characters belong to JK Rowling, the situation certainly doesn't!

This story - although not any recognisable characters or settings - is the copyright and property of the author. Please do not post, archive or in any way reproduce this story. Links to this page are fine.   This was written as a PWP time challenge, so has no redeeming plot value whatsoever.  Enjoy.]

Moonlight filtered through the windows, a soft susurration of silver spilling into the shadows that surrounded him - shadows both literal and metaphorical.  The spell of night held, the shadows still harbouring the fears and hopes of his life.  In the monochrome of midnight, the very world seemed only black and white; the embrace of grey in which he chose to live was harder to find in this landscape of ink-black corners and brilliant edges, lines picked out in the searing self-examination of a full moon. 

Curled into an armchair, Severus Snape watched the inexorable shift of the light ease across the room with the passing of time.  A study in black and silver, a part of the room in the most fundamental manner, he watched her sleep.  With her back to the window, the moonlight picked out only the line of her body, a silver thread that wound along the curves; an enticing path that he’d followed often enough to be able to trace it in his sleep.  It was familiar enough to him that he could feel the texture of her skin and the warmth of her under his fingers even now, caught in his insomnia and the inevitable depth of night. 

The witching hour; the hour of death.  His mind held a scattering of thoughts, idly surfacing and diminishing like the circle of ripples on the lake below them.  A time to die; a thought he no longer welcomed but caught, instead, and pushed it ruthlessly away.  The thought held the edge of fear and refused to be pushed.  Odd, he thought, how fear was the one constant in a life.  It crawled out of the shadows and into the light yet remained unlit; blackness beyond all manner of black, absorbing hope and slipping unseen into the cracks of the day.  Hidden again until the night, to be born again in the shadows.

He’d faced fear before, in many forms ­ most of them violent and often of his own making.  This was far more insidious; a fear of loss.  Almost paralysing now, holding him in darkness as his breath caught.  To die ­ that would have been a gift beyond compare not so very long ago.  A gift he would not, could not, give himself; a gift he would gladly have welcomed from others.  Too many debts to pay, too high a price still being exacted to seek it himself, yet fervently to be wished for.

High clouds softened the light, passing before the moon, and just for a moment he found again the shades of grey in which life is lived; in that moment the fear ebbed away, its power diminished without the stark contrasts in which it showed itself.  The moment passed, the edge of light returned and yet the fear remained buried.  He had no illusions ­ it would rise again, called in the darkness and bleakest times, but right now he knew it for what it was and its power had gone.

He would live, and she would live; and if once, in the future, that life should fade then the other would still live and all the fear in the world would not take that away, nor their love.  The sacrament of life, a sacrament of love.  The outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible grace; she was his grace, his salvation.  She could also be profoundly annoying; he could not allow himself to forget that because to make her perfect would be unbearable.; so far from perfection himself, to seek it in others would destroy him.  The piece of grit that provokes an oyster to form a pearl; the catalyst that generates a reaction.  Imperfections were essential; sought after. 

His particular imperfection sighed and turned slightly in bed; he caught his breath and hoped she wouldn’t wake.  She’d had far too many late nights recently, and he’d watched the shadows under her eyes darken each day; tonight he’d feigned exhaustion and ensured they both slept early.  She’d protested, arguing the importance of the work; he’d refused to listen, patiently repeating that they would get more done with rest.  They’d make fewer mistakes, certainly.  Eventually she’d given in, unwllingly asleep almost before she’d finished undressing.

He sighed inaudibly; too much of this was his fault.  He needed little sleep ­ much less than she did but, instead of accepting this as an individual quirk of his, she seemed to believe that it was a fault in her that she needed more sleep.  Age and experience had not conquered her need to match the efforts of others ­ no matter if her own body had different ideas.  He had seen her fight the tiredness that crept over her, urging her to bed against her protests.  Protests that now meant he went to bed with her, lying awake or waking early as tonight.

The room fell silent again now, the rustling of sheets dying down now she turned.  The stone walls of the room ensured that only the imperceptible sounds of their breathing interrupted the still air. 

The light faded; the cloud thickened in the distance and grey became the colour of night again.  Blank meditation replaced the simmering chaos of thought as he worked to clear his mind; he focussed on the thought of an azure potion dripping into a vial, the repetition endless and rhythmic.  The soft shimmer of ripples with each drop absorbed him and conscious thought fled under the insistent image in his mind.

He may have fallen asleep; he wasn’t sure.  The crack of lightning that flooded the room brought him back to the present regardless, uncaring that it pulled with it all the fears and chaos that he’d worked to submerge.  Uncaring also that it caught up Hermione out of sleep, the brilliant flash whitened the room for an instant and snatched her from an immediately forgotten dream.

Both immediately alert they sought the other; his eyes flickered open to see her looking round for him.  Reassured, they turned to look out at the storm that had torn open the still night.  No sound accompanied the sight; the thunder rolling over the hills had no way through the walls or glass of the castle.  Lightning had no such respect, forking to ground in a cataclysm of illumination; visceral in its intensity.

Rain swept down the window, distorting the landscape revealed in each moment of light into rivulets and staggered elements of silhouettes.  A silent drama played out across the landscape; sharp highlights picking out the path of the storm.

She turned to him then, sleep-soft, and reached out her hand to him.

“Come back to bed, Severus.”

He uncurled from the chair, joints aching a little in protest at the still position he’d sat in for hours, and caught her hand in his.  Turning her hand over, he kissed her palm as he sat on the edge of the bed. She was warm, flushed with sleep, her scent a slow drug in his system; her skin was an invitation under his lips and he held her hand to his mouth, his eyes closing, unwilling to let go of the sensation.  The soft stroking of her thumb against his cheek had him lifting his eyes to hers; a gentle amusement at his adoration lit her face, tinged with an increasing desire that warmed her eyes. 

He’d long since realised that her amusement was nothing more than a refusal to take for granted what they had found in each other.  This was a rare frivolity of hers that he cherished, this perpetual astonishment that her feelings were reciprocated.  He shared that astonishment as it bubbled through him now with an intoxicating effervescence ­ that they should have found this in each other was a delight and a joy that he had never expected.  The sharp mind that had challenged his for seven years had matured now into a personality that tempered and complemented his; together they were infinitely more than the sum of themselves.  It had taken more time and effort ­ mostly in resisting ­ than either could now really understand before they had understood that; first impressions, fuelled by pride, had warred with attraction when they had met again.  They had too much history to simply put aside, personalities too forceful to succumb to the demands of the body until the mind demanded the same.

Now ­ well, now they embraced each other, mind and body.  A challenging relationship; neither could have anything else, but ultimately worth every moment of work that it took.  Perfection in a heartbeat.  Neither perfect alone ­ and no-one but themselves would imagine them perfect together but perfect they were.  A balance of love, lust, respect, admiration and adoration; the principles of perfection expressed in words and actions.

He kissed her palm once more, then trailed his fingers from the back of her hand down her arm; the pad of her thumb brushed across his lips, slightly rough from the myriad tiny nicks and abrasions that came with her work.  Just enough friction to pull the delicate skin of his mouth, a tug that shot through him and fired him as lightning flooded the room again.  He opened his mouth, capturing her thumb; the taste of her, the taste of sleep and heat, was a gentle spice against his tongue as he explored her skin.  A quick gasp from her at the first touch spurred him on; he lapped and suckled, tugging at her thumb as she curled her hand along his jaw.  She let her head drop back, arching towards him in a mixture of invitation and supplication. 

He let her thumb slide from his mouth slowly, savouring the quiet sigh she breathed, and began to place small kisses along her arm; he paused for a moment at her wrist, letting her pulse jump against his mouth.  Her reactions guided him as always, lingering just where she shifted or moaned, feeling himself heat and harden just as she softened under his mouth.  He loved the reactions he could create in her, delighting in her growing arousal. 

Another pause, this time to draw a damp line along the crook of her elbow with his tongue.  Too much, clearly too much, for her hand wrapped around the back of his head and urged to upwards to meet her mouth with his.  Passivity had never been her style; she couldn’t take without giving.  Mouth to mouth; lightning of an altogether different kind as they strained against each other.  Heat and desire and insistent need drove him against her, fabric rubbing against skin as she opened her mouth to him, tongue touching his with an answered demand as he explored the damp heat that she called him into.

Heart and mind poured into the kiss, he was conscious of little else but the need to get closer to her; turning and shifting on the bed he lowered himself beside her.  The sheets were long since pushed down the bed, perhaps deliberately as she had arched and pushed towards him. 

He could feel her hand at the back of his head, holding him into a kiss he had no intention of leaving, fingers weaving into his hair and massaging gently; the whisper on his scalp sent shivers through him and now it was his turn to arch against her.  She smiled against his mouth and, as he began to relax into the kiss again, skimmed her hand down the length of his spine.  Another shuddering arch pulled him against her; they lay now on their sides, pushed hard against one another.  He could feel the heat coursing from her in waves; just as he delighted in her reactions, she loved to explore his ­ subtle, mutual, power play as each delved into the gift of pleasure.  Surrender was inevitable; surrender to the moment and surrender to each other.  To pull that surrender from her was to give into his own; he could no more hold back as she went over than he could stop loving her.  He was hers, just as she was his. 

Complete; each small surrender at night echoed the greater surrender when they had committed to each other.  Trust was all; there were no half-measures possible. Good, bad, indifferent, fearful and exultant ­ all of him was hers now, to hold or to destroy.  That final surrender had been painful for both ­ it had taken depths of courage he hadn’t known they had to understand then that to lose their independence was to gain it.  The pain had been redeemed a thousand times since then, fired into a connection and combination more powerful than either could have imagined.  They stood apart together, the space between them strengthening them more than any more conventional closeness.

The kiss softened and ebbed into a gentle brushing of lips as they lay together, still for a moment, savouring the touch and presence of the other; breathing slowly as the familiarity of touch washed over them.   Lightning washed over them, sight and souls revealed and shared.  Heartbeats slowed, pulsing into an aware relaxation, then sped up again as he slipped his hand between them and over her breasts; as he cupped one then the other, teasing her nipples with his thumb, she turned lazily onto her back to give him more room.  He smiled as she caught her lower lip between her teeth; concentrating on his touch as much as he was.  He murmured softly, an incantation in Latin that most Romans would have been startled to see the effect of; her nightdress bunched and rose slowly over her body, the fabric brushing the already sensitised skin and making her shudder.  A soft moan widened his smile; his hands continued to draw her further into arousal, until he could resist temptation no longer and reached down to draw a hard nipple into his mouth.  Her half-startled cry only encouraged him, suckling and pulling with his lips at the stiff nub and puckered skin; she pushed against him, offering and demanding as he shifted his attention to her other side, leaving her wet skin to tighten still more in the slightly chill air of the room. 

He memorised her again, lapping and then grazing with his teeth before soothing her again with a slow caress of his tongue that began an urgent writhing against him.  Her skin was hot and firm under his fingers, exploring her stomach with a patience that belied the urgency of his arousal.  He kept quiet with an effort, her writhing brushing against him with an gloriously uncomfortable pressure ­ she twisted up, thigh rubbing deliberately against his erection until he exhaled with a sharp hiss and pulled away.  Repaying the attention, his exploring hand slid from her stomach to the damp curls between her legs; for a moment he traced only the crease along the top of her inner thigh and inhaling the scent of her as she shifted to allow him access.  Incoherent mumbling urged him to touch her heat; as he finally allowed a single strong finger to slide between the folds and into the welcoming heat, he realised the mumbling had included a echo of his earlier spell ­ he shuddered with the kiss of cool air on his hot skin as his nightclothes disappeared.  Then he shuddered again, fiercely, with the kiss of her lips on his erection.

Grateful beyond measure for the self-discipline he’d acquired in long-ago fear he forced a part of his mind away from the jumble of chaotic pleasure and pure sensation to set up a slow pulsing rhythm, sliding one finger ­ then two ­ into her, revelling in the sensation of the contracting muscles that encircled his fingers and the slick wet warmth that eased each stroke.  She picked up the rhythm, echoing each of his strokes with one of her own, her mouth enveloping him with heat and pulling gently at the upstroke, her teeth just grazing the tip and nipping before she covered him with her tongue, then her mouth again.  Just enough variation to stop the rhythm from becoming settled, and just enough rhythm for him to relax into the cycle of anticipation and pleasure. 

The ripples that shot through her tightened around his fingers for a moment and he drew his fingers away for a moment, not wanting to send them both spiralling into climax just yet.  A quiet protest made him smile fleetingly, the smile vanishing into an astonishing surge of arousal as she caught his hand in hers and lifted her head long enough to suck his fingers for a moment, grinning up at him as she took her own taste from him.  A shuddering breath later and they were deep into a kiss, his taste and hers mingling between their mouths with a fierce joy. 

He’d had plans ­ ideas he wanted to explore, to see her reaction. All that was swept away in the kiss, lost in the fire that consumed them with an urgency fired in the storm that raged inside and out.  He found himself pulling her over him, sucking in a harsh breath as she caught him up in her hand; a swift caress almost pulled him over the edge, then he heard her own laboured breathing as she settled onto him, strong warm softness covering, teasing him as she let just her slick wet heat touch the dampness easing from him.  He strained upwards involuntarily, control lost and seeking only their completion.  He caught and held her gaze, watching the delight and pleasure of the love in her eyes glaze into a matching loss of control as she eased around him ­ he could feel the muscles stretch and open to accommodate him as he slid into her until, finally, she settled fully against him and he was buried inside her. 

Buried; he in her and she in him, the burial of the self in the moment of joining.  Only one existed, all idea of separation and independence gathered and entwined in a bond that shook both each time it uncoiled between them.

A slow shift, arching and writhing, both together as they began to move; he held her close to him, hands on her hips because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing the connection between them even for an instant.  Rocking and circling, pulling each other onwards as the movements became more intense, she shifted forwards just enough to increase contact with him; he pushed upwards against her, then slid his thumb between them to give her the pressure she was blindly seeking.  The small dense nub under his thumb was swollen, and she shuddered violently as he touched her; the sensation shot through him as she contracted hard with the shudder and he gasped.  No more control; all thought of restraint was gone as he shuddered in turn and began to push harder into her with short, sharp thrusts that caught his hand between them and took him fully into her. 

She arched backwards above him, lit occasionally with each flash of lightning as the storm passed overhead, her body taut with their shared arousal; all he was aware of for a while was the clench of her hand against his thighs as she pushed down onto him.  The pressure of her climax fired the last hard push into her; he was gripped and held as he came pulsing into her, delighting in her abandonment to the moment and fed by inarticulate cries mingling in the night air.

Lightning struck; his eyes closed, all he could see were flashes of silver as all sensation gathered and exploded between them.

Tired, hard breathing was the counterpoint to the stillness in the room that came back to him now; he felt her slide forwards to lie over him, arms around his neck as his came around her back to hold her close to him.  The lightning came less often now, moving further away, and the room was washed again in shades of grey. 

They slept.