Sub Night

Oh_Honestleigh

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 09/01/2007
Last Updated: 09/01/2007
Status: completed

It's the third Wednesday of the month, a night that's very special in Hermione's life. Third Wednesday is what she and Harry call Sub Night. Anticipation prickles her body, rippling under her skin and along her nerves as she wonders what he has in store for her this time.

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

Sub Night

Author's note: This was written for the Smutty Claus het fic exchange on Livejournal, http://community.livejournal.com/smutty_claus/. Many thanks to my betas, hystericalhystorian and tome_raider, for their indispensable advice.

It’s ten past six on a Wednesday evening in early May. It’s the third Wednesday of the month, a night that’s very special in Hermione’s life. Third Wednesday is what she and Harry call Sub Night.

Sub stands for "submission".

At first Hermione doesn’t want to call it Sub Night. The name seems so…kinky. She’s never thought of her relationship with Harry as the least bit kinky. Kinky, to her, involves whips and chains, or sucking someone’s bodily fluids from an orifice, or drawing blood with teeth or knives or fingernails.

Harry convinces her that their Sub Night won’t be that way.

"Don’t you ever want to just let go and let me do everything for you?" he asks as they eat breakfast the morning after a particularly strenuous night of lovemaking.

Memories of the previous night fill her brain and she smiles. "You mean sexually?"

"Yeah." He takes a sip of coffee; then he seems to gather his courage before going on. "Every now and then I’d like to be the dominant one for the whole evening. Not that there’s anything wrong with what you’re doing. I’d just like to have one night a month when I’m completely in charge."

Hermione considers this for a moment as she nibbles her toast. "So if you were dominant, you would make me do whatever you wanted?"

He brushes a strand of hair from her forehead. "No, it wouldn’t be like that. I don’t want to make you be my slave for a night."

"Well, that’s good," she says with a soft laugh.

"I’m not explaining this right," continues Harry. "I want to have one night a month when I get to do whatever I want, as long as the goal is strictly to please you." He waits while Hermione ponders this silently. "It’s probably a stupid idea."

"No," says Hermione quickly. "It’s brilliant. Really. Perhaps we could take turns. One time, you would do everything for me. The next time I would do everything for you. It wouldn’t really be submission in the traditional sense because we’d not be humiliated or forced to do something we didn’t want to do. You would be submitting in the sense of allowing the other person to bring you to orgasm while you lie there passively. Is that what you were thinking?"

He flashes a cheeky grin. "Yeah, that’s what I was thinking – just in a lot fewer words. Sometimes you overthink things, Herm—"

She silences him with a kiss.

*^*^*^*

It’s the third Wednesday of the month, and the third time Harry and Hermione will engage in Sub Night. They’ve developed a few rules for Sub Night. One rule is that the dominant partner makes all the arrangements regarding food, lodging and anything else necessary to bring the other partner to ecstasy.

The first two times they stay in at their flat, eating familiar food, drinking their own wine, and making use of familiar surfaces and objects. This time Harry is in charge. He owls Hermione at four o’clock, telling her to stand near the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry and wait for a taxi that he will send round at precisely quarter past six.

It’s ten past six, and the next five minutes feel like five hundred to Hermione. The first two Sub Nights were among the more remarkable encounters in the three years she and Harry have been lovers. Anticipation prickles her body, rippling under her skin and along her nerves as she wonders what he has in store for her this time. The taxi hasn’t even come round yet and already she’s wet with desire.

She reminds herself of something she’s known a long time: her imagination is basically another sex organ.

At exactly quarter past six a taxi appears in the alley behind the Ministry. Hermione reaches the vehicle in five quick strides and gets in. The driver nods; apparently she passes his inspection.

The taxi winds its way slowly through heavy traffic. Eventually, after what seems like half an hour, the taxi begins to slow down. Looking through the passenger window, Hermione recognises Kensington Gardens. The taxi makes a right turn, then another. Finally it slows to a crawl and pulls up in front of what looks like a long row of white townhouses.

"Pardon me, but where are we?" Hermione asks.

"In Princes Square, Bayswater, mum."

"How much do I owe you?"

The driver shakes his head. "Nothin’, mum. The gentleman already paid. Have a good evenin’."

Alighting from the taxi, Hermione walks the few steps from the kerb and enters the hotel. The lobby is quiet and unremarkable save for a statue of Pegasus, the winged horse of Greek mythology. Hermione smiles to herself, unable to suppress a grin at the thought of all the magical creatures she’s actually encountered. She wishes she could tell the concierge that she once rode on the back of a hippogriff.

Inquiring at the front desk, she learns that Harry has left a key card for her. She finds the lift and proceeds to Room 427, on the top storey of the hotel.

She shoves the key card into the lock and enters.

The room is about average sized for a London hotel. The walls, at least ten feet tall, bear faded peach-coloured wallpaper. On the opposite wall there is a single large window framed by heavy red drapes. Hermione crosses the room quickly and peers out the window. She’s pleasantly surprised to find that the room overlooks a charming square filled with budding trees.

She decides to try the large bed that dominates one long wall. She lies down on the red satin bedspread and rests her head on a fluffy pillow. Ahhh. She hopes Harry arrives soon to keep her awake or she just might fall asleep….

A tinny sound disturbs her and she raises her head from the pillow. There’s much less light in the room now; apparently she did fall asleep. The sound returns; the tumblers of the door lock are turning. The door opens and a slender young man with unruly black hair enters.

He smiles at her. "Have a good nap?"

She smiles back, pushing herself up on her elbows. "Lovely, thanks. What time is it?"

"Almost half-past eight. You must have needed the sleep."

"Were you in the room earlier?"

"Yes, about an hour ago. I didn’t have the heart to wake you." He sits down next to her and gives her a lingering kiss. "Besides, I want you to be wide awake tonight. Wouldn’t want you to fall asleep while I make love to you."

She blushes under the heat of his gaze. The touch of his lips reminds her of exactly why she’s been brought here.

"Have you had dinner yet?" she asks, feeling suddenly shy.

"No, I was waiting for you. We can order room service now you’re awake." Leaning past her, he opens a slim leather folder on the bedside table and hands it to her. She points out what she wants and returns it to him. Harry rings up the hotel restaurant and places their order.

Turning back to Hermione, he cups her breast with his hand. "I don’t know if I can wait until we’re done with dinner," he says, his finger drawing lazy circles around her nipple through the fabric of her peasant top.

As her head falls back against the pillow, Hermione’s breath hitches. "I’m sure the wait will be worthwhile," she whimpers as Harry pushes up her top and bra and takes her nipple in his mouth. As he licks and sucks, one hand stroking her thigh through her jeans, his other hand undoes his zip and pulls out his hardening cock. Even as she squirms and shudders, she reaches instinctively to touch him. He pushes her hand away.

"Not tonight. You can’t touch me, remember? I’ll take care of myself until the time is right."

She would nod if she could, but Harry’s tongue and hand leave her unable to do anything but writhe.

^*^*^

Dinner arrives half an hour later. The meal itself is filling but unremarkable. Afterward, for pudding, Hermione has a ginger tart. Harry eats his chocolate ice cream so slowly it melts in the dish.

Hermione frowns as she wipes her lips. "Didn’t you like your ice cream?"

"It’s very good," he says, looking slowly from his dish to Hermione, "but I’ve got something in mind for the rest of it."

She realises he’s undressing her with his eyes. This time his attentions embolden her. "I think I’ll make myself a bit more comfortable. Hold that thought."

Hermione gets up from her chair and walks into the ensuite bathroom, where she finds a short red-silk dressing gown hanging behind the bathroom door. Disrobing, she looks at herself in the mirror above the sink.

Her body, she decides, is rather unremarkable. Average height, average hips, average breasts, though her nipples, she thinks, are perhaps larger than average. Her stomach is not flat. She still has a scar on her trunk from the spell that struck her in the Veil Room at the Ministry of Magic. Her thighs are a bit fuller than she would like. She dislikes the freckles that come out on her cheeks in the summer sun. She knows that physically she is far from perfect, yet Harry always behaves as though she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. It’s more proof, she thinks now, of how much he loves her, the fact that he’s never suggested that she lose weight or do anything to "improve" her body.

She thinks that’s the sexiest thing about him. Not his body, which is no longer scrawny but now a bit more filled-out. Not his eyes that draw her in until she feels she’s going to drown in his intensity. Not even his cock, which fills her until she feels that every cell in her body will melt into whatever surface they use. No, the sexiest thing about Harry Potter is that he loves her exactly the way she is.

Wrapping the dressing gown around her naked body, Hermione exits the bathroom. She finds Harry sitting on the edge of the bed wearing only his boxer briefs.

"Miss me?" she asks coyly, glancing at the rather conspicuous bulge in his pants.

"Let me show you how much."

Crossing to the bed, she straddles his lap and places her hands on his shoulders. "I’m all yours."

"Do you trust me?" he asks, suddenly serious.

She wonders what’s cooking in that devious mind of his. "With my life. You should know that by now."

He kisses her languidly, his tongue gently seeking entry to her mouth. She squeezes his shoulders, parting her lips to let him in. His tongue sweeps through her mouth slowly while his hands slide under her dressing gown and caress her bare skin. She rocks against his erection, tension coiling in her body as Harry pulls away and nibbles her neck and earlobe.

"I want to try something new tonight," he whispers, his breath hot against her ear. "You need to trust that I won’t do anything to hurt you. This is all for your pleasure."

Her body turns to jelly as his tongue traces the shell of her ear. "What…did you…have in mind?" she gasps.

"This is the only time tonight I’ll tell you what to do," he says tenderly. "Please take off your dressing gown and move to the center of the bed."

Sliding off his lap, Hermione stands in front of him and lets the dressing gown drop to the floor. Climbing onto the bed, she sits in the middle of the satin bedspread, which is smooth and cool against her naked skin.

Harry gets up and flicks off the overhead lighting. Now the room is dark save for a sliver of light filtering in from the bathroom.

"Lie back against the pillows and stretch your arms out, a little above your head," he says.

Hermione does as he asks. When her arms are extended, Harry nods and a pair of long red-silk ribbons fall onto the bed. He nods again and a shorter but wider strip of dark fabric appears next to her head.

She knows now what he wants to do. The thought sets her nerves on fire – and sends a ripple of anxiety through her brain. Her natural instinct to be in charge of any situation wrestles with her desire to please him by giving up control.

"This will be so different," she gasps as he ties one wrist gently but firmly to one end of the headboard. "I won’t be able to touch you or even see you."

"I reckon it will be a bit weird, at first," he answers, tying up her other wrist. "Please, try to relax. This is all about turning you on." His smirk is the last thing she sees before he ties the blindfold around her head.

Engulfed in darkness, her arms splayed across the pillows, Hermione lets herself sink into the mattress. "Would you like some music?" he asks, shifting his weight on the bed until she can feel him sitting next to her hips.

"No," she answers quickly. "This is…unbelievable." Unable to see or touch him, her senses are reduced to hearing, smelling, tasting and feeling Harry’s body against her own.

"I’m glad you’re enjoying it so far," he says, moving again until he’s down near her feet. "I’m going to make love to you now. Just lie back and let me do everything for you."

She tries to nod, but the blindfold is disorienting and makes her head feel heavy and clumsy. Suddenly her foot is in the air and Harry’s mouth is wrapped around her big toe. He’s milking it with his tongue, and Hermione goes limp again. He pulls his mouth off, pushes her legs apart and begins to kiss his way, very slowly, around her foot, then along the outside of her leg. When he reaches her hipbone, the kissing ceases as he shifts again until he’s stretched out beside her.

Two long slim fingers touch her nipple then roll it gently. Heat starts to pool in her groin again and she writhes on the bed. Suddenly Harry’s mouth surrounds her other nipple, licking and sucking until her hips buck up and down. The tip of his tongue dances along her skin and Hermione shivers with want. His fingers leave her other breast, tracing a curving path down her stomach until they reach and linger at her entrance. He’s teasing her now, tantalising her with the barest of touches, and she’s never been more turned on.

Now his cock is hard and hot against her thigh as he gently slides his thumb between her folds. His thumb feels cool against her aching nub, but the coolness is quickly followed by more heat as the pad of flesh rolls and presses and explores, repeatedly seeking and finding her tender spot until she finally growls with frustration and need.

"Stop teasing me," she whimpers.

"I’m not teasing you. I’m trying to blow your mind." He pauses a moment. "Are you okay? Is your blindfold too tight? Do you want me to take it off?"

"Yes, please. It’s not too tight. I just…I need to see you while you’re doing this. The restraints aren’t bad, but the blindfold is a bit too much sensory deprivation."

Harry shifts again and the blindfold falls off.

"Better?" he asks, his lips hovering near hers. He’s kneeling next to her now, naked. She aches to touch his chest and take his cock in her hand. It’s fully erect and shows no sign of flagging.

"Yes and no." She stares at his cock to make her point.

He gives her a smug grin. "Patience, sweetheart. We’ll get there soon enough."

Now Harry gets off the bed and retrieves his bowl of melted ice cream. Pushing Hermione’s legs apart once more, he dips his fingers in the small bowl and touches them to the inside of her left knee. Her body tingles as he smears a thin line of melted ice cream up the inside of one thigh and down the other. He levitates the empty dish to the bedside table and looks down at her.

"Almost there," he says, gazing hungrily at her body.

Hermione wriggles at the touch of his tongue against her thigh. He licks the ice cream off her skin slowly, almost reverently, alternating a swirling motion with gentle kisses. When he’s almost to the apex of her thighs he stops, backs up and repeats the process on the other thigh. All Hermione can do is buck against his mouth as tension coils inside her like a spring.

Harry finally reaches the apex of her thighs and sets about making her truly mad. As he cradles her bottom in his hands, his lips and tongue are everywhere, licking, stroking and occasionally delving inside her. She’s almost at the edge now, her body trembling under his mouth. He stops and pulls back; then he braces himself above her and enters.

"Faster," she moans as his cock slides inside her body one maddening fraction of an inch at a time.

"Wanna make it last," he mumbles, finally seated fully inside her. His hands bracing him on either side of her chest, he begins to stroke slowly in and out. Her legs fall apart, allowing him deeper access, which he takes advantage of, plunging farther inside with every stroke. Hermione writhes beneath him, her skin on fire against his, every nerve about to overload from sensation.

He shifts again; while one hand braces him against the bed, the other hand slides between their bodies and finds her nub. She wants to wait for him but can’t hold back, her orgasm washing over her like electromagnetic waves.

Suddenly the bonds fall off her wrists and Harry gathers her against him, pumping harder and faster than before. He comes hard, shuddering and grunting into her neck.

They lie on the bed panting. Hermione kisses Harry’s hair as his head rests on her shoulder. He’s in no hurry to pull out, and she’s content with letting him stay inside as long as he wants.

"You know," she says, unable to suppress a grin, "I’m allegedly the clever one in this couple. How am I supposed to top that next month?"

"Dunno," he says in a sleepy voice. "You’ll figure something out. You always do. That’s part of why I love you."

"What are the other parts?" she asks coyly, as though she doesn’t already know.

"This" – he pumps into her one last time, then slides out – "and this" – he touches her bottom – "and these" – he touches her breasts – "and most of all, this," he finishes, kissing her forehead.

"You love my forehead best of all?" she teases.

"Yeah, I love your forehead best of all," he says, smirking. "And especially what’s behind it. Think I’m gonna sleep now. Good night, love."

He kisses her gently and slides under the covers, apparently falling asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. She joins him between the sheets, spooning against his chest and legs. As she drifts off to sleep, she decides that Sub Night is a wonderful idea, indeed.

###