A Dash of Salt, A Pinch of Spice

Oh_Honestleigh

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 23/03/2006
Last Updated: 23/03/2006
Status: in_progress

This is where I will post erotic drabbles and ficlets, usually under 1,500 words. Some stories might feature Ron/Luna as the primary or secondary pairing.

Chapters

1. Parseltongue

1. Parseltongue

This smutlet is all Inell’s fault. She’s a friend of mine on LiveJournal who gave me the idea for this long drabble. The first bit of language is what I remember Harry saying in the COS movie when he was trying to open the Chamber of Secrets. The other stuff I made up. The usual HP disclaimers apply. Unbeta’d, so all mistakes are my own. I’d rate this hard R/ light NC-17.

Summary: Hermione didn’t need to be a Parselmouth to know what Harry meant.

^*^*^*^

"Hesssshhh-eeee-mossshh…"

Hermione found out in second year that Harry was a Parselmouth. "You can speak to snakes, Harry? That’s a very rare talent," she told him earnestly. But she didn’t hear him use his talent until five years later.

"Hessshhh-eeee-mossshhh …"

Smooth, sultry, sibilant. These were erotic sounds, sounds of feeling, not thinking, Hermione decided. The first time she actually heard Harry say them when he opened the Chamber of Secrets again while they hunted for Horcruxes, and she knew in that moment that she wanted to hear him make those sounds again….

"Tooshh-ah-fess eh-vohssshin-fahhl…"

She was lost to him then. The sounds melted her resolve to be merely his best friend, made her want to lean closer to him, feel his breath on her neck, his lips on her jawline, feel his lips vibrate on her collarbone, her breasts, anywhere else he wanted, as those sibilant, erotic sounds fell on her skin like drops of rain on a parched landscape.

"Speak Parseltongue to me, Harry."

The first time they made love was in the library at Grimmauld Place. It was slow and languid, like the Parseltongue. Harry laid her down in a velvet settee, slid his naked hardness up her leg and inside her, licking her ear lobe as he said over and over, "Hessssh-eee-mosssshh….hessssh-eee-mosssh, Hermione."

Open for me. Open for me, Hermione.

She opened for him then, the first of countless times when he made her blood pound in her veins simply by drawling a few long, slow, sibilant syllables. She had no idea why those sounds affected her as they did, making her want to wrap her legs around Harry’s waist and ride him until both of them were breathless and slick with sweat. Perhaps it was the way he breathed them into her ear, his tongue nibbling her earlobe then curling around the shell of her ear. She enjoyed the other ways he made those sounds, sometimes wrapping his lips around one of her nipples, other times sliding his tongue inside her, his lips vibrating against her clitoris and outer lips. She would come, and then he would come up for air, his face slick with the evidence of her desire for him. Then a grin would sneak across his face, and Hermione had to smile at how incredibly clever he was.

"What are you grinning about?" she asked once, thinking she already knew the answer.

Harry slid up from between her thighs and began to hum against her breasts. "I wonder if old Mouldyshorts would approve of the way I’m using Parseltongue. I reckon he never used it to drive a Muggleborn wild."

Hermione grinned back. "I don’t suppose he did." She could imagine Tom Riddle using his talent with purebloods, of course; Harry had told her and Ron about what he’d seen in Dumbledore’s pensieve, the way Riddle could charm his way into the homes and lives of those who had something he desired. But as far as Hermione could tell, Riddle had desired only objects and immortality, never another person.

Well, that’s another way he’s completely unlike Harry, she thought as she rolled on top of him.

Three years later, Voldemort was dead and gone, and Harry was still using Parseltongue to turn Hermione on. In the four years they’d been together, he had learned many ways to entice and excite her, but nothing got her wet -- and him hard -- faster than Parseltongue combined with light bondage.

So Hermione lay naked on their bed, her wrists bound to the headboard with red silk ribbons, as Harry slowly kissed, licked and hummed his way up her body, stopping every few inches to vocalize his deepest feelings. She didn’t need to ask what he meant. His eyes, lips and tongue told her everything she needed to know.

"Hesssshh-eeee-mossssh, Hermione…"

Her legs parted wider as his lips slid up her inner thigh and his tongue sought and found her clit.

"Tooshh-ah-fess eh-vohssshin-fahhl…"

Sucking, licking, kneading her with his tongue, Harry breathed the words over and over until Hermione was writhing beneath his mouth. A second later, he was sheathed inside her, his wet lips covering her own, his tongue sliding across hers as he gently held her wrists and pumped into her until the tension coiled in her body overflowed, leaving her limp and gasping beneath him.

"Maaash ai vahnsssho, maaash ai vansssho, maasssh ai vansssho…"

She wasn’t a Parseltongue, but she knew what he meant.

"Maasssh ai vansssho, Harry….I love you too."