hellooo!! i was wondering if you could write snape being gentle and soft with his s/o in bed during naughty time? i love your writing so much, thank you!
HI thank you for waiting <3 if you hadn't already forgotten about it. I absolutely loved writing this because he is soft and tender when he trusts someone, even in friendships like we see with McGonagall. He was never directly crude in a meaningful way.
I want to assume that he hadn't slept with anyone prior to them - or at least not anyone whose name he recalled or learned, so sex was a very foreign thing to begin with, along with sensual touches. What he favored most was the connection. The warmth of someone's skin on his, seeking his out.
But the touching made it so much better.
Hands of a lover he was grateful to be with tugging at his arms, paving his skin like they might meld into him, caging him in their legs from the need to be closer. To be near him.
It was something he struggled to wrap his head around.
He was an asshole. A git with an ugly personality that most could not tolerate. That, he understood. What perplexed him was the notion that they were okay with this, and that somehow that acception dulled his scathing remarks and clipped, passive-aggressive insults into breathless doting and tender whispers. His hands, where they normally would be clinically accurate, meticulous to a fault, now wandered aimlessly over soft skin that shivered and relented without any urging.
His lips ghosted their eyelashes before placing a kiss to their cheek, their temple, then over to their ear to hear a breathless something akin to a giggle leave their lips.
He cracked a fleeting grin as well. They didn't see it.
And even if they did, it went unregistered in comparison to the tender, careful nudges of his hips between their legs. Hands gripped at his shoulders. He drove deeper. They huffed.
They had a close call today. A walk in the woods, one meant for students to learn how to gather local ingredients, but it turned nasty. A Slytherin girl had an adverse reaction to one of the plants. She tensed up and clutched her throat minutes later. The urgency with which they'd rushed her back to the infirmary left them terribly stressed, but as professors, it was their job to keep a level head and lead everyone back without so much as a gasp or a look of worry. The girl was perfectly fine, thank Merlin.
Not long after dinner, they were holed up in his bedchambers to relieve the tension. Only, instead of going nuts and screwing like teenagers, he took it slow, built up the pressure in them, reveled in their quiet responses like the sound was amplified in his ears. Each one drew a moan from his throat, the sultry mimicry of his drawl without the syllables to back it up. Whether he had meant to say something or just needed to get it out was unclear.
His angle was perfect, gliding against that sweet spot that made their practiced breathing pattern all but falter.
His hands drew across their chest, palming and then flicking at their nipple while they put their head back for his ever-inquisitory tongue. His hips staggered.
A whisper tickled their ear. "You call for me so often," he said, his breath growing ragged, matching the pace of his endeavors. "Why?"
"Because you love me. Don't you?" Their reply was instantaneous, as if it was such an obvious thing. Like he must've known it. Of course he did. But he heard the slight incline held within their question, felt the subtle swell in their throat when they swallowed under his palm.
He came, his hips delving deeper to feel them constrict in response to the sudden sensation. He groaned into their neck and they moaned, the tension in them snapping as he slowed to a begrudging stop.
"Of course I do." He managed with a threadbare tone. "Of course I do,"
He dipped once more and captured their lips under his own, seeking out that extra stretch of warmth as he pulsed inside them so naturally, though his cheeks were tinted by the lingering notion. He thanked Merlin they closed their eyes every time he kissed them. Otherwise he'd be done for. They could feel his breath fan their face when they parted. He was just as breathless as they were. Not from the sex, though it was a prominent factor, but from his love of the close proximity, his need to be a well of solutions for their wants.
What he loved was the sensation of wordless connection. A type of magic undisclosed in textbooks. A delicate, innate partnering which proved he need not be touch-starved any longer; he had someone to go to when his spirits were low, when his heart felt heavy. This was his. Not even he could mess it up.
