Darkfic, part II
Sep. 5th, 2004 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thrihyrneThis one is Remus/Snape, a continutation on the musing of addictions and their effects on characters. This one is Adult. Really adult. So it's behind a cut tag and since I haven't locked this one, if you are offended by m/m slash, for goodness' sake, don't read it. I just figure that there are maybe 20 people reading this LJ and I'm about to go overseas anyway, so I'm feeling a bit "throw caution to the wind" and willing to risk a bit more. But if you'd like to muse a bit on the dark side of things, by all means, go ahead and read.
II. Remus
He’d been living a Muggle life for several years before discovering that they had their own magical ways to make things easier. Remus continued to resist for a while, convincing himself that years of forced disguise, of necessary distance from others made him somehow more impervious, that he was doing just fine, that…
…it was only a matter of time. Though his coworkers at the library in Halifax were fairly staid, he ventured out into slightly rougher- more colorful, he told them- enclaves. Alone. Even in Muggle Canada, there were places a gay man could prowl, fondle, and decide who to fuck. This became especially important the night before the full moon. Especially after he had indulged in his opium. He should have spent money on books, on less-shabby clothes, on anything else. Instead, he numbed himself with the substance that allowed him to feel good about being in his mutilated skin, and with fucking. Remus introduced himself to a new ass every moon, a bowl-full of ego every time the orb that ruled his life blossomed to her full, nightmarish hold. There wasn’t affection in what he did, that had been for Sirius alone. Other men thought his scars were sexy, that he had an aura of controlled danger.
They weren’t wrong.
It was ironic, as Remus would chastise himself in his inner monologue, days later, that for someone who had been so self-conscious about his body in his youth, its ugliness and all that the ever-increasing scars entailed, would now, as an adult, be so brazen about showing it off. He felt it all through a haze, one that didn’t have room for being betrayed by his lover, no space for prejudice (since werewolves didn’t exist in the Muggle world, now did they?); nothing except the reassuring textures under his fingers of old, bound books and nubile, taut skin.
*********************
He could have sworn that he’d cast his smell-blocking Imperturbable on the door to his office, and he knew bloody well that he’d locked it. Yet Snape was standing there, smoking chalice in hand. Silent. One raised eyebrow, one downturned mouth. His usual expression, with a twist.
“How did you get in here, Severus?” The drug made him more mellow, and he’d been at it a while. For some reason this moon cycle was especially wearing, and for the first time in a couple of years, he had indulged in what had been a habit in his former life. Snape’s first name had tripped off his tongue, which was odd.
No reply. Snape continued to stare, looking at the pipe, at Remus lounging on a couch in his mostly-open bathrobe, feet propped up at the other end. They took their time looking each other over, having come to an unspoken truce in the months while Remus was teaching at Hogwarts. And Remus was pretty sure that Snape the man had the same inclinations that he had smelled on him as Snape the student, though back then sniffing the Slytherin had been an accident. He wanted to be sure this time, so he took in a deep breath, registering curiosity/lust/fear.
It was something to work with.
He unfurled from the couch and stood near Snape, offering the pipe to him. Snape shook his head, but didn’t move away, he merely placed the chalice on the nearby desk. Remus leaned in, carefully reading the slightest emotion on Snape’s face. The dark eyes were less guarded. He’s probably had a bit of a wind-me-down himself, Remus realized. He’d been in Snape’s office a few times, had been offered some potent sociable brandy and seen an impressive collection of glass decanters. This was probably as forward as he would ever get from someone so reserved. And Remus suspected that Snape was as deprived of physical touch as he was, though he would probably never admit it. That was okay.
“I’ll just get you out of these bothersome robes, shall I?” he asked.
“Yes,” Snape answered, roughly, then pulled a small vial of something out of his black trouser pocket. “But use this, nothing else.” He handed it to Remus, who turned it in his hand, admiring the phosphorescent twinklings in the lubricant. “And no kissing, for Merlin’s sake. I’m not here for anything sentimental.”
“All right.” Remus tilted his head, gauging Snape’s request. “Are you here for fucking, then?”
A nod.
All in all, it was a very satisfying encounter. Apparently for both, as Snape came to his office the next three moons, placing both the wolfsbane and lubricant next to each other on Remus’s desk. The fourth after his initial surprise visit, it was the chalice only.
Remus, already aroused in anticipation of his monthly, quiet shag, looked questioningly at Snape. “Tired of me so soon?” He stretched out on the couch, arching his long toes toward the imposing, black-clad figure.
Snape shook his head. “I’ve become used to it. Crave it, even,” he said, glaring at Remus, as it was evidently his fault that Snape looked forward to being fucked senseless by Hogwarts’s resident werewolf with no strings attached.
“So where’s the problem?”
Snape stood imperiously, hands behind his back. It could almost be taken for submission, but Remus knew very well that Snape could have his wand snapped into his hand and at his throat in seconds. He waited for Snape’s answer. And waited. Snape continued to look at him. Remus grew tired of it.
“Well, if there’s nothing I can do to make you change your mind…” Voice and finger trailed downward as Remus opened his bathrobe and cradled his balls, interested in gauging the other man’s response.
Snape’s eye twitched. “I cannot give in to such needs simply because I-” he stopped.
Remus slowly pulled his fingers up his cock. “Because you what?” he asked, enjoying the discomfited look on Snape’s face. Bloody hell, the man was stubborn.
“Because I desire them.” Snape’s voice was gravel, ground out through gritted teeth. “That is precisely why this must stop.” He turned on his heel, strode through the door and slammed it behind him.
Remus felt the shudder of wood into stone echo in his bones, rankling his nerves despite the drug. It wasn’t that he particularly liked the other man, or desired anything beyond their monthly trysts. But sharing their bodies for mutual gratification, albeit wordlessly and perhaps with a sense of shared profound shame, had allowed Remus to feel as though a few of the jagged pieces of his life suddenly formed a delicate pattern- a glimpse in a kaleidoscope, aligning past and present.
The desire to fuck somebody, anybody, burned in him like a flare, then extinguished utterly. He ached under the weight of his impending transformation and gnawing sensation of missing-limb-Sirius. It would be a bad moon, and even Snape- isolated, unforgiving, temporarily surrendered Snape- had shut him out. Remus whimpered, his hand reaching for his opium pipe, willing enough magic to utter an incendio so that the bowl glowed.
“You’ve infected me, Sirius,” he whispered to the empty room before drawing a deep, burning breath of numbing heat.
He’d been living a Muggle life for several years before discovering that they had their own magical ways to make things easier. Remus continued to resist for a while, convincing himself that years of forced disguise, of necessary distance from others made him somehow more impervious, that he was doing just fine, that…
…it was only a matter of time. Though his coworkers at the library in Halifax were fairly staid, he ventured out into slightly rougher- more colorful, he told them- enclaves. Alone. Even in Muggle Canada, there were places a gay man could prowl, fondle, and decide who to fuck. This became especially important the night before the full moon. Especially after he had indulged in his opium. He should have spent money on books, on less-shabby clothes, on anything else. Instead, he numbed himself with the substance that allowed him to feel good about being in his mutilated skin, and with fucking. Remus introduced himself to a new ass every moon, a bowl-full of ego every time the orb that ruled his life blossomed to her full, nightmarish hold. There wasn’t affection in what he did, that had been for Sirius alone. Other men thought his scars were sexy, that he had an aura of controlled danger.
They weren’t wrong.
It was ironic, as Remus would chastise himself in his inner monologue, days later, that for someone who had been so self-conscious about his body in his youth, its ugliness and all that the ever-increasing scars entailed, would now, as an adult, be so brazen about showing it off. He felt it all through a haze, one that didn’t have room for being betrayed by his lover, no space for prejudice (since werewolves didn’t exist in the Muggle world, now did they?); nothing except the reassuring textures under his fingers of old, bound books and nubile, taut skin.
He could have sworn that he’d cast his smell-blocking Imperturbable on the door to his office, and he knew bloody well that he’d locked it. Yet Snape was standing there, smoking chalice in hand. Silent. One raised eyebrow, one downturned mouth. His usual expression, with a twist.
“How did you get in here, Severus?” The drug made him more mellow, and he’d been at it a while. For some reason this moon cycle was especially wearing, and for the first time in a couple of years, he had indulged in what had been a habit in his former life. Snape’s first name had tripped off his tongue, which was odd.
No reply. Snape continued to stare, looking at the pipe, at Remus lounging on a couch in his mostly-open bathrobe, feet propped up at the other end. They took their time looking each other over, having come to an unspoken truce in the months while Remus was teaching at Hogwarts. And Remus was pretty sure that Snape the man had the same inclinations that he had smelled on him as Snape the student, though back then sniffing the Slytherin had been an accident. He wanted to be sure this time, so he took in a deep breath, registering curiosity/lust/fear.
It was something to work with.
He unfurled from the couch and stood near Snape, offering the pipe to him. Snape shook his head, but didn’t move away, he merely placed the chalice on the nearby desk. Remus leaned in, carefully reading the slightest emotion on Snape’s face. The dark eyes were less guarded. He’s probably had a bit of a wind-me-down himself, Remus realized. He’d been in Snape’s office a few times, had been offered some potent sociable brandy and seen an impressive collection of glass decanters. This was probably as forward as he would ever get from someone so reserved. And Remus suspected that Snape was as deprived of physical touch as he was, though he would probably never admit it. That was okay.
“I’ll just get you out of these bothersome robes, shall I?” he asked.
“Yes,” Snape answered, roughly, then pulled a small vial of something out of his black trouser pocket. “But use this, nothing else.” He handed it to Remus, who turned it in his hand, admiring the phosphorescent twinklings in the lubricant. “And no kissing, for Merlin’s sake. I’m not here for anything sentimental.”
“All right.” Remus tilted his head, gauging Snape’s request. “Are you here for fucking, then?”
A nod.
All in all, it was a very satisfying encounter. Apparently for both, as Snape came to his office the next three moons, placing both the wolfsbane and lubricant next to each other on Remus’s desk. The fourth after his initial surprise visit, it was the chalice only.
Remus, already aroused in anticipation of his monthly, quiet shag, looked questioningly at Snape. “Tired of me so soon?” He stretched out on the couch, arching his long toes toward the imposing, black-clad figure.
Snape shook his head. “I’ve become used to it. Crave it, even,” he said, glaring at Remus, as it was evidently his fault that Snape looked forward to being fucked senseless by Hogwarts’s resident werewolf with no strings attached.
“So where’s the problem?”
Snape stood imperiously, hands behind his back. It could almost be taken for submission, but Remus knew very well that Snape could have his wand snapped into his hand and at his throat in seconds. He waited for Snape’s answer. And waited. Snape continued to look at him. Remus grew tired of it.
“Well, if there’s nothing I can do to make you change your mind…” Voice and finger trailed downward as Remus opened his bathrobe and cradled his balls, interested in gauging the other man’s response.
Snape’s eye twitched. “I cannot give in to such needs simply because I-” he stopped.
Remus slowly pulled his fingers up his cock. “Because you what?” he asked, enjoying the discomfited look on Snape’s face. Bloody hell, the man was stubborn.
“Because I desire them.” Snape’s voice was gravel, ground out through gritted teeth. “That is precisely why this must stop.” He turned on his heel, strode through the door and slammed it behind him.
Remus felt the shudder of wood into stone echo in his bones, rankling his nerves despite the drug. It wasn’t that he particularly liked the other man, or desired anything beyond their monthly trysts. But sharing their bodies for mutual gratification, albeit wordlessly and perhaps with a sense of shared profound shame, had allowed Remus to feel as though a few of the jagged pieces of his life suddenly formed a delicate pattern- a glimpse in a kaleidoscope, aligning past and present.
The desire to fuck somebody, anybody, burned in him like a flare, then extinguished utterly. He ached under the weight of his impending transformation and gnawing sensation of missing-limb-Sirius. It would be a bad moon, and even Snape- isolated, unforgiving, temporarily surrendered Snape- had shut him out. Remus whimpered, his hand reaching for his opium pipe, willing enough magic to utter an incendio so that the bowl glowed.
“You’ve infected me, Sirius,” he whispered to the empty room before drawing a deep, burning breath of numbing heat.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-06 05:24 am (UTC)Oh, goodness.
Date: 2004-09-06 06:48 pm (UTC)http://www.thrihyrne.net/HPstories.html
"Together, Alone" is twin-centric and dark; "Through Dooms of Love" is Ron/Hermione and dark. Both, sadly, also include character deaths. You've been warned. But they are cathartic. ;)
Glad you're... um... addicted.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-06 06:45 am (UTC)I love understated darkfic - no melodrama, just unblinking ruthlessness. Mercy for the characters that they would never give themselves--but not too much mercy.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-06 06:50 pm (UTC)Thank you for that!! The next one hopefully will fall into that category as well. Glad you're along to read these- not my usual, but that's the joy of writing, right, to think in different ways?
Mercy and redemption. Sometimes found in spades, sometimes absent. Hmmmm. Good topics for people at war.
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-06 01:37 pm (UTC)favorite line:
But sharing their bodies for mutual gratification, albeit wordlessly and perhaps with a sense of shared profound shame, had allowed Remus to feel as though a few of the jagged pieces of his life suddenly formed a delicate pattern- a glimpse in a kaleidoscope, aligning past and present.
really like the image...well done!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-06 06:53 pm (UTC)Certainly, I am too. Hence the happy ending for "Love's An Anarchist." Though I've been careful to make it so that this trilogy could still fit in within that universe. But Remus must be a very strong person given his background and life; exploring the darker side has been a fun challenge.
I'm so gratified that you liked that image; I was especially pleased with it. And Snape's gravelly, gritting teeth sentence. I love it when the image!muse drops by.