Author: eeyore9990
Title: Deviant Little Fantasies
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Snape/Hermione, Lucius
Kinks: Straightjacket, mild bloodiness, cliche!, fingering, blowjobs, mentions of corsets
Warnings: Het (just because of that one icon I keep seeing...)
Word Count: ~3100
Disclaimer: Not mine, but I have way more fun with them than she does.
A/N: Thanks to all my IM-ers who held my hand through this. Once again, the characters took over and I was just along for the ride. Blame them. The bastards. :P

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Lucius Malfoy in a straight jacket was enough to give any living person fuel for a lifetime of wet dreams. As to that, he was probably enough to give a few species of non-living beings wet dreams. Hermione didn’t really know if Vampires were capable of wet dreams, but she was certain that, were it possible, the image of the man before her would do it for them.

It was certainly doing it for her. She straightened her paperwork for the dozenth time and cleared her throat… again. She was fidgeting and she knew it, but she really just couldn’t help herself. She allowed her gaze to flicker around the room, looking for her “partner,” though Severus Snape certainly hated to be called such.

He wasn’t quite as pleased with the arrangement they’d been thrust into as she was, and Hermione was absolutely appalled over it. She trusted Snape, of course, but he wasn’t exactly who she would have chosen to work with were it up to her. As a matter of fact, she would have chosen anyone to work with over someone so incredibly cold and cutting.

“I trust you summoned me from my opulent accommodations for a reason, Miss Granger? Or were you planning to stare me to death?”

“Miss Granger is an Auror now, Lucius. You would do well to remember that, and to keep a civil tongue in your mouth.” Severus’ softly spoken words did not detract from the threat they carried, and Hermione felt tiny shivers ripple through her at the silky tone he used.

Drawing a steadying breath, she smiled sweetly at Lucius and said, “It’s quite all right, Severus. I imagine Mr Malfoy isn’t himself these days. We can’t really expect him to remember his manners after his long exile from civilisation, now can we?”

Lucius said nothing in response to her pointed barbs, but his expression was quite revealing. His eyes narrowed, his lips thinned, and his nose flared briefly as he sucked in a quick breath through it. Her eyes studied the muscle that jumped in his jaw as he clenched his teeth in anger, and caught there. The curve of his jaw was suddenly fascinating to her in a way she’d never before experienced. It was so decidedly masculine, which surprised her as she’d always thought him androgynous at best.

Studying him now, she realised that the deceptively fine features and long, beautiful hair merely created the illusion of femininity; she’d never had the opportunity to really view him up-close before and could now clearly see that the hair and features merely softened the sharply masculine aura of the man. As she stared, cataloguing his features, he tilted his head and locked gazes with her. A knowing glint in his eye caused her to squirm again.

The prolonged silence grew to be apparently too much for Snape, however, who finally barked out her name, causing her to jump, her heartbeat pounding in surprise. Turning to scowl at him, she said, “You do realise that I’m not the only person in this room who can conduct an interview, right?”

He merely raised one eyebrow laconically and said, “I do apologise, Miss Granger. I simply assumed you would wish to be distracted from your lustful little fantasies of Mr Malfoy before you embarrassed both yourself and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I see that I am mistaken. Do feel free to continue salivating over the man; I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Malfoy said dryly. “I’m always happy to cooperate with the Aurors, in whatever… capacity… that cooperation might entail.”

Hermione had stopped breathing the instant Snape began speaking. With Malfoy’s words, she took a much-needed, though very shocked, breath and just barely managed to keep her voice from reaching ear-piercing levels. “The both of you can go to hell and Azkaban, respectively. I’m not sure which is worse, but—”

“Really, my dear, you’re not fooling anyone. Do you think we can’t see every dirty little fantasy that plays itself inside your quite imaginative brain? I must say, the image of the knife slicing so carefully through the bindings of this garment is doing wonders for my own disposition. Do continue, please.”

Hermione went stock-still. How could he have possibly known…? Her eyes closed and she thunked her head down onto the table in front of her. Legilimency was second nature to the man and she’d practically handed him an engraved invitation with all the eye contact. Dammit!

“Really, Miss Granger, one would hope you had learned enough Occlumency by now to—”

“Severus, surely you’re not chiding the girl for her thoughts, now are you? After everything I’ve seen of your deviant little fantasies. Though I must admit, the image of her in a school-girl uniform, bare arsed over your desk at Hogwarts, while you pounded into her cherry-red backside—”

“What?!” Hermione screeched, turning in her chair to stare, goggle-eyed at Snape. She couldn’t help pressing her thighs together to stem the light throbbing that had started up there at the images Malfoy had painted for her, however. She’d often cursed her over-active imagination, but had never thought it would give her so much trouble as it was doing now.

“Now, now, Lucius,” Snape said, ignoring her completely. “You’re not playing fair, old friend.”

“Have I ever?”

“That’s enough! We’re here for a reason, and this,” Hermione flailed her hands about, “farce is over. Malfoy, you expressed interest in providing information to the Ministry which might alleviate your sentence. We’re here to collect your testimony for the Wizengamot.”

Malfoy tilted his head, causing a strand of blond hair to fall across his cheek, drawing her gaze to the way it brushed against his skin. Clenching her teeth, she tore her thoughts back to the matter at hand, even as he attempted to steal her concentration with the only tool left to him, his words. “If you truly want my testimony, Miss Granger, perhaps you’ll be willing to work for it?”

“That isn’t the way this works, Malfoy. If you have nothing to say, then we have no use for you. I’ll be happy to call the guard if you wish to return to your cell.”

His eyes darkened with anger for just a moment before he began speaking again.

“I know where the Dark Lord is hiding.”

“Voldemort is dead.”

Lucius’ lips curled into a wicked smile.

“I never said Voldemort was the Dark Lord.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed her chair back abruptly, bumping Snape’s hip with it in the process. Turning, she muttered a quick apology before she started for the door.

“Granger.”

Hermione stopped, one hand on the doorknob, and turned back to Snape with an irritated look. He was close; too close. She felt trapped against the door as he leaned down to speak into her ear, his breath washing over her skin and drawing forth a response she wasn’t sure she was willing to give.

“My mark never faded. Potter’s scar…”

“What are you saying?” she asked and nearly whimpered when he shifted even closer.

“We need to at least listen to him. Hear him out. If it is nothing but nonsense, I’ll know. But humour him and keep his attention off of me so that I can read him without his knowledge.”

“Ahh, very nice. If you two would turn just a bit…? Oh, how very disappointing. You’re only speaking to her. Although, with that voice of yours, it could well be classified as sex. Have you ever tried to talk her into orgasm, Severus? With her fertile imagination and your satin tongue, I’m certain—”

“That’s quite enough, Lucius,” Snape said, turning from Hermione. She sagged against the wall, knees weak with a lust she should not be feeling. She could only thank whatever powers were responsible for Snape’s lack of attention as she pulled herself together and approached Malfoy again. God, what was happening to her?

Somewhat composed, she slid into her chair and looked at Malfoy, her gaze resting on the tip of his nose as she began to question him.

“Who is this Dark Lord?”

“How badly would you like to know?”

“Not that badly, actually,” she said. “You’re the one who brought… him?... up. I’m simply humouring a demented old man.” She smirked at the flush that brought to his pale cheeks.

“Old? My dear Miss Granger, if you’d be so kind as to remove this rather constraining apparatus, I’d be happy to return the favour and humour you.”

“Oh, really? Do tell.” Hermione kept her voice purposefully droll, but that didn’t stop Malfoy from rising to her challenge.

“Yes, Miss Granger. First, I’d take the knife you find so arousing when slicing through canvas and use it on those prim little clothes you wear like so much armour. Then I’d see what your skin tastes like; feel the give of your flesh under my teeth as I bite lightly at your nipp--”

Snape’s hand in his hair, jerking his head back, cut off Malfoy’s words, but just for a moment. “God, yes, Severus, you remember. Pull harder, pet. Make it hurt.”

Hermione’s eyes were wide as saucers and her thighs trembled with how hard she was clenching them together. She gulped as she watched Snape lower his head until his face was right up in Malfoy’s.

“I won’t tell you again, Lucius, to be careful what you say to my partner.”

“Jealousy makes you delectable, Severus,” Malfoy said and lunged in his chair, capturing Snape’s bottom lip with his teeth. Snape yanked his head back so fast, Malfoy’s teeth cut through it, drawing blood. The sight of the bright red liquid blossoming, pooling, and then running in a thin line from the corner of Snape’s lip made Hermione’s mouth go completely dry.

“Desperation makes you careless, Malfoy. Granger was right. You have no secrets to tell and this interview is at an end.” Releasing Malfoy quickly, Snape turned to Hermione, one hand rising to wipe away the trail of blood. Her gaze caught on the smear of blood and she simply could not look away.

As she sat there, panting with arousal, Snape stalked around the table and grabbed her by her upper arm, pulling her forcefully from the chair and walking her to the door. Opening it and calling for the guard, he led her outside the room and down the hall. Finding an empty janitorial closet, he pushed her into it before following her and hissing, “What the bloody hell is your problem, Granger? You’re losing it!”

In the total dark of the quiet room, his voice—and its effect on her—was amplified. A small part of her was astonished when she released a throaty moan, but the majority of her mind was buried in a haze of arousal. When Snape’s hands gripped her shoulders to shake her, she grabbed onto the front of his robes and pulled, bringing their bodies closer together. “What’s wrong with me?” she asked, her voice a small whimper.

“Lumos,” Snape said, and the point of his wand lit up the small room, making Hermione flinch, burying her face in the front of Snape’s robes, where she began to nuzzle closer.

“Look at me, Granger,” he said, his voice commanding and brisk.

As soon as her eyes met his, she felt him rifling through her head, bringing forth one image after another. In one, she was straddling Snape, who was wrapped in a tight black corset; in another, she looked up the line of a body that bore marks that had to be from her teeth. On and on it went, one fantasy after another, the like of which she’d never had before but which made her body writhe with pent-up frustration. Unable to stand it any longer, she jerked her head down and closed her eyes, ripping him away from her mind. “What’s happening to me?”

“Has it been seven years since you had your first menses?”

Hermione tossed her head, trying to hold onto one though long enough to process what Snape was asking her. It was nearly impossible, but she managed to say, “Fourteen,” which he correctly assumed was how old she’d been at the time as it was practically unheard of for a seven year old female to menstruate.

“Granger, are you currently involved with anyone?”

“No,” she moaned, wrapping one leg around his thigh and fumbling open his robes, trying to get to the skin beneath.

“Granger, stop. Think. Is there someone you trust that would be willing to—Sweet Merlin, girl, don’t do that if you expect me to help you retain what little dignity you have left!”

“Help me? Yes, help me…” She sank to her knees, ripping the fabric of his trousers as she pulled them off him.

“You’re going to hate yourself in the morning, Granger, which is really the only reason I’m doing this,” she vaguely heard him say, though it was more an irritating buzz in her ears than anything else. She gave a choked cry of triumph when she pulled his pants down to reveal his cock; it was more than half-hard and framed by a nest of black curls.

Without another thought, she opened her mouth and sucked him in, moaning around his flesh at the taste and touch of him on her tongue. She was so lost to sensation that she didn’t even register his sharp bellow of pleasure.

God, how could she have ever thought him cold? He was so hot under her fingers and lips that she wondered why he didn’t simply burst into flame. She dropped her hand to her lap, rubbing herself frantically through her clothing as she tried to find an end to the madness rolling through her. When that only made everything worse, she pulled back from him, tears gathering in her eyes.

“Help me!” she demanded. “Make it stop!”

“The only way… to make it stop…” he panted, “is for me to fuck you. Hard.”

“Oh, god, yes!”

She tripped over the hem of her robes trying to stand up and ended up falling against a shelf. As she grabbed onto it for support, she felt her robes lifted from the rear and her sensible skirt that she wore under it pushed above her waist. Deft fingers skimmed under the edge of her plain cotton knickers, sending jolts of pleasure all through her as they delved into her.

“So fucking wet, Granger. You can’t wait for gentle, can you?”

“Noooo!” she cried, twisting her head to glare at him. “Fuck me, Snape. Now!”

“What a bossy little thing you are. Who would ever have guessed?”

She bit her lip and twisted her hips, forcing herself down on his fingers, crying out at the frustratingly not right stimulation. “Please, please, please, please, please…” she moaned, over and over, until he took pity on her and turned her around, lifting her onto the shelf she’d been clutching for support.

Yanking up her clothing again, he ripped her knickers from her and thrust his fingers back in, rubbing almost viciously at her clit with his thumb while she gripped him with one hand and the shelf behind her with the other, screaming and convulsing around him.

When the blood stopped rushing quite so frantically through her veins, she felt a measure of sanity return. Looking down, she saw that she still had Snape’s head clasped against her chest and she let go quickly with a, “Erm, sorry.”

“If you’re feeling more yourself, Granger, you should go find someone to help you through the next three days.”

“What? Three days?! I can’t…”

“If you deny the Awakening, you’ll only find yourself in the same situation you were just in. Where anyone, even someone as undesirable as myself, will do. And not everyone is as much a gentleman as I.”

“The Awakening? I thought that was a myth?” Hermione murmured to herself. As Snape started to back away, hands adjusting his clothing, she put out a hand and stopped him.

He looked up at her with one eyebrow quirked in question.

Licking her lips nervously, she said, “Thank you. I… you didn’t have to, and…”

“Don’t thank me, Granger.” He moved away again and she jumped off the shelf, wincing a bit at the pain across the middle of her back from where the shelf above the one she’d been sitting on had dug into her.

“Wait!” she called, and breathed a sigh of relief when he did.

“I… you looked. Inside my head, I mean. You saw… all those…” She gestured vaguely with her hands, gaze no higher than the middle button on his chest as her cheeks turned a bright pink.

“Fantasies, I believe they’re called.”

“Yes, precisely. You saw… those.”

He huffed an irritated breath and said, “Worry not, Granger. I won’t tell anyone of your deviant little fantasies.”

“Stop!” she said when he tried to leave again. “For such a smart man, you’re really an idiot, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m trying to ask you to… to be my… ‘partner,’ I suppose, for the next three days. And not just my Ministry-appointed partner.” She didn’t think the clarification was necessary, but it was always a good idea to make things very clear when dealing with Snape.

When he didn’t say anything for a long moment, she risked a glance at his face. He was staring at her like she’d grown three heads and declared her intention to run for Minister. Actually, he would probably not have been quite this surprised if she had decided to run as the first three-headed Minister.

After a long while, she couldn’t take it anymore and broke the silence. “Well?”

He blinked and shook his head, which she started to take as an answer until he said, his voice rather strained, “Do you have any objection to spending part of the time at Hogwarts?”

She blinked up at him in confusion and said, “No, I have no problem with that, but… why?”

“If we can sneak in...” He coughed and looked down his nose at her. “For whichever of my fantasies you are willing to fulfil, I’ll fulfil one of yours.”

Hermione’s cheeks went pink again and she pushed at his back, urging him to start moving. “I’ll have to see if I can find my old school uniform.”

“Don’t worry about the corset. I have one. And access to a straightjacket if you’re really good.”

The End.

There are several more parts to this story that have been written since this was originally posted, and I will be providing the link as soon as I have my journal tags and links straightened out here in IJ.