FICLET: Answer
26/6/06 01:03![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bronze_ribbonsBackstory and postscript to Bleeding to Conquer (100 words, NC-17). For ![[insanejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/ij-userinfo.gif)
karasu_hime, who had questions.
This section: 450 words, PG-13ish.
Warnings for the whole thang: Hermaphrodite!slave!"I must rape you"!Werewolf!Severus!BDSM!happy-ending!kitchen-sink!fic. I've interpreted all those adjectives as modifiers of "fic" rather than "Severus," because I do have limits, and Slytherlycanthropic girlbits -- just, no.
Also: This is really a comment-fic on hormones rather than a stand-alone post, so I didn't bother my betas with this.
Also, too: A deliberate nod to Dorothy L. Sayers's Busman's Honeymoon.
Backstory to the warnings:pixychelle sprang the thumping plotbunny of DOOM on me while rec'ing my other hermaphrodite!Severus story, "The Collar."
! @ ! @ !
Their mission over, they each treat the other with a determined, impersonal courtesy during the weeks that follow. In another era, Snape would have cheerfully taken full advantage of the guilt he knows to be gnawing at Lupin, even though it had been essential for Lupin to bully and abuse him convincingly, the better to persuade their ultimate prey that Snape was truly being punished: given his purported prejudice against werewolves, his enemies on both sides of the War had derived considerable satisfaction in seeing him forced into serving Lupin.
In another era, Snape would have revenged himself on Longbottom as soon as he regained possession of his wand, even though the clod had been attempting to help him. Only Longbottom could bungle a healing spell so badly as to inflict Hermaphroditia instead… but Longbottom and Lovegood had both been essential to the mission as well. For all of her daffiness, the Ravenclaw girl had scored solid marks in Potions, and while she herself was not yet advanced enough to brew Wolfsbane, she was capable of producing basic compounds in answer to menstrual cramps, and kind enough to include adequately disguised vials of such elixirs in her deliveries to Lupin's flat. Because there had been no one available to produce the Wolfsbane as needed, they'd spent full moons at the Shrieking Shack, with Snape securely locked and warded inside a closet while Lupin rampaged through the rest of the house.
As the night of the first full moon after their mission approached, the traitors they'd flushed out in the course of their charade had already been Kissed or killed outright. In another era, Snape would have savoured the stricken look on Lupin's face when he sees the smoking goblet Snape has brought to him.
But that was a long-ago time, back when he'd considered pride an essential rather than a luxury. As Lupin accepts the goblet, his face crumples-- his eyes and nose start streaming, his mouth working, his mask of calm disintegrating into a mess of gasps and sobs.
Snape cannot resist hissing, "Get a hold of yourself! Don't you dare foul up my work with your vile dilutions." He is rewarded with a succession of choking and sputtering noises that suggest Lupin is trying to laugh through his distress. Hurriedly setting the goblet down, Lupin buries his face in the crook of his left arm and waves wildly with the other, gesturing at Snape to go away.
Snape moves the goblet out of harm's reach. Then he walks to Lupin and hauls the other man into his arms.
He hasn't a shred of forgiveness in his vocabulary, but he's willing to own some measure-- some semblance-- of grace.
karasu_hime, who had questions.This section: 450 words, PG-13ish.
Warnings for the whole thang: Hermaphrodite!slave!"I must rape you"!Werewolf!Severus!BDSM!happy-ending!kitchen-sink!fic. I've interpreted all those adjectives as modifiers of "fic" rather than "Severus," because I do have limits, and Slytherlycanthropic girlbits -- just, no.
Also: This is really a comment-fic on hormones rather than a stand-alone post, so I didn't bother my betas with this.
Also, too: A deliberate nod to Dorothy L. Sayers's Busman's Honeymoon.
Backstory to the warnings:
pixychelle sprang the thumping plotbunny of DOOM on me while rec'ing my other hermaphrodite!Severus story, "The Collar." Their mission over, they each treat the other with a determined, impersonal courtesy during the weeks that follow. In another era, Snape would have cheerfully taken full advantage of the guilt he knows to be gnawing at Lupin, even though it had been essential for Lupin to bully and abuse him convincingly, the better to persuade their ultimate prey that Snape was truly being punished: given his purported prejudice against werewolves, his enemies on both sides of the War had derived considerable satisfaction in seeing him forced into serving Lupin.
In another era, Snape would have revenged himself on Longbottom as soon as he regained possession of his wand, even though the clod had been attempting to help him. Only Longbottom could bungle a healing spell so badly as to inflict Hermaphroditia instead… but Longbottom and Lovegood had both been essential to the mission as well. For all of her daffiness, the Ravenclaw girl had scored solid marks in Potions, and while she herself was not yet advanced enough to brew Wolfsbane, she was capable of producing basic compounds in answer to menstrual cramps, and kind enough to include adequately disguised vials of such elixirs in her deliveries to Lupin's flat. Because there had been no one available to produce the Wolfsbane as needed, they'd spent full moons at the Shrieking Shack, with Snape securely locked and warded inside a closet while Lupin rampaged through the rest of the house.
As the night of the first full moon after their mission approached, the traitors they'd flushed out in the course of their charade had already been Kissed or killed outright. In another era, Snape would have savoured the stricken look on Lupin's face when he sees the smoking goblet Snape has brought to him.
But that was a long-ago time, back when he'd considered pride an essential rather than a luxury. As Lupin accepts the goblet, his face crumples-- his eyes and nose start streaming, his mouth working, his mask of calm disintegrating into a mess of gasps and sobs.
Snape cannot resist hissing, "Get a hold of yourself! Don't you dare foul up my work with your vile dilutions." He is rewarded with a succession of choking and sputtering noises that suggest Lupin is trying to laugh through his distress. Hurriedly setting the goblet down, Lupin buries his face in the crook of his left arm and waves wildly with the other, gesturing at Snape to go away.
Snape moves the goblet out of harm's reach. Then he walks to Lupin and hauls the other man into his arms.
He hasn't a shred of forgiveness in his vocabulary, but he's willing to own some measure-- some semblance-- of grace.