LMOM: Collared- Part 23
May. 23rd, 2010 12:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katekintailTitle: Collared Part 23
Author: KateKintail
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Kinks: wanking
Pairing: Remus/Snape?
Disclaimer: This story is NOT of JKR’s making. I make no money from this at all. I also do not condone the keeping of werewolves as unwilling sex slave love pets.
Summary: Unable to make ends meet after the war, Remus submits himself to the Ministry’s program for werewolves.
Word Count: 1,473
Notes: Written for pervy_werewolf’s Lusty Month of May 2010
It wasn’t natural to go out and purchase the thing that scared you the most and keep it around to constantly haunt your thoughts and dreams. It was, however, normal to want to get rid of the thing that scared you the most and banish it from the world entirely. And that was why Snape had spent more than a year trying to develop some sort of cure for werewolves.
His first thought was that it was something in the blood, and if he could just eliminate certain elements within the werewolf, the wolfishness would die away. A werewolf was only a wolf for one night every month, after all, not even a full 12 hours sometimes, depending on the time of the year. There had to be some way of addressing just that one little bit that turned a man into a terrible, vicious, mindless killer.
The more he studied and experimented with potions, the more he grew to realize he needed real werewolves. He was nowhere near testing any solutions, but he couldn’t move forward without collecting samples. Luckily, the Ministry of Magic made that task easier than expected. All he had to do was fork over most of his monthly salary as a professor and he, too, could be the owner of his very own werewolf.
His nightmares, which had been sporadic for a while, returned every night a werewolf was in his house. Every night he saw the sharp canine teeth gnashing and the solid, glowing amber eyes. Every morning he had to wake up, knowing his greatest fear was lying in wait just down the hall in his guest bedroom.
He had to collar them. The werewolves weren’t told everything that the collars did, because none would be willing to accept a collar with such knowledge. They knew, of course, that the collars suppressed the ability to do magic and prohibited them from talking. But the collars also weakened the werewolves considerably, especially the longer one was worn, and made it physically impossible for a werewolf to harm its owner in any way. If one tried, he would be instantly knocked unconscious, during which time restraints could be applied and the offending werewolf could even be transported back to the Ministry. Snape knew most of the werewolves in the program were either broken or degenerate. They were either pitifully submissive or highly unstable. Snape didn’t like to see the ones in the first camp and he certainly didn’t trust the ones in the second group. The collar was an absolute necessity.
The men did not especially like having their blood drawn, but with no choice in the matter, they submitted. Snape would keep them fed and clean until trading them in again at the Market. He went through quite a few of them before realizing that the solution did not lie with blood, but with another bodily fluid.
This was why he settled on the gay males of the species. In a pinch he could handle one of the straight males, but it was easier to get the pofters worked up and in a fit state to perform the actions he required.
He hadn’t wanted Remus to know. In fact, he had thought about just taking Remus back to the Market once he felt better. Letting Remus know he was working on something to cure werewolves meant showing Remus a vulnerability Snape did not ever want to show the wolf who had tried to kill him as a schoolboy. Letting Remus know about the research would inform Remus that he was still scared, and still tied to his past. But, at the same time, he felt like, of them all, Remus would understand how that felt. And, perhaps, Remus would want to help make it up to Snape, to redeem himself for his part in that potentially deadly prank.
“I need you to come for me,” Snape said, after they had finished breakfast.
Remus’ eyes were wide and white. They locked onto Snape’s black ones and stayed there for a few moments. Then, without looking away, Remus got up from the table, pulled up his robes, and pulled down his pants.
Snape should have seen this coming. He jumped up and steered Remus out of the kitchen by the shoulders. What had once been this house’s dining room had been converted into Snape’s workroom. Bottles and jars lined one whole wall, cauldrons and notebooks were strewn across a scrubbed wooden table. And an unusually large fireplace looked like it had grown right out of the floor on the far side.
“Lupin…” Snape began, hating the uncertainty in his voice already, and he hadn’t even decided how to explain this.
Turning, Remus looked into his eyes again, then put a finger to his own lips. He needed no explanation. Either the reason did not matter or he already understood; Snape wasn’t sure which. But Snape was strangely excited. He hadn’t counted on enjoying watching Remus wank, but he couldn’t deny the morning had been arousing. Snape couldn’t deny the anticipation building within him now at the thought of getting to see that again, up close this time.
Remus reached under his robes again and began stroking himself rapidly, impressively. Remus’ body was stiff, rigid. There was nothing in it that Snape recognized from the wank in the shower. This was merely a chore he had to complete. His wrist bent and hand jerked, pulling at his cock with quick little strokes. His expression was blank.
Snape tried not to look disappointed. He tried to pretend that amazingly hot visual wasn’t something he wanted again, at his disposal. He tried to pretend there was nothing behind his request but his research. Pursuit of knowledge. Successful discovery. Worldwide recognition of an amazing achievement. It had nothing to do with his overly willing, rather sexy, probably incredibly skilled love slave.
Remus stood there, working his cock clinically, stroking and stroking. His cock was hard, but that was all, it seemed. Snape leaned close, hardly daring to speak. “Do you need help?” Suddenly, Remus moved closer, into his owner’s chest, and took a few deep breaths of Snape’s scent.
After that, Snape barely had time to reach for a bottle and pull out the stopper before Remus was ready. Unable to speak, to announce it coming, Remus grabbed hold of Snape’s arm and squeezed tightly, urgency in his eyes. Snape held the bottle up and helped ease the head of Remus’ cock in past the mouth. The cock was warm, strong, and made him shiver with excitement at the touch. He hoped Remus couldn’t tell, couldn’t smell, couldn’t see, couldn’t sense it. Snape desperately wanted to reach down and touch himself. Instead, he settled for holding the bottle as Remus filled it two-thirds full of seed.
This would be useful, Snape was sure. But this still felt wrong, like a mistake. It didn’t feel the way it had with all the other werewolves.
When they were done, and the stopper was on the bottle finally, Snape dismissed Remus. “Thank you. I’m sure this will be useful. Why don’t you go read another book while I’m working, Lupin?” He motioned toward the door.
Remus hesitated, his gaze lingering on Snape. Then he nodded obediently and left the room.
Snape let out a deep breath, having not realized he had been holding one. He bent over the table to write out a label for the bottle. But his hand shook so his first few attempts at “Lupin” looked like an L and then a jumbled, squiggly mess. Deciding that labeling could wait, Snape tried to turn his attention toward his latest concoctions. None of them were strong enough. It was possible that any successful potion would have to carry some sort of element unique to the werewolf it was meant to cure.
He tried his best to concentrate on the tasks at hand, at the research, but his mind kept straying toward Remus. He didn’t know why, but he thought he might check in with him, just to be sure the man had found a book all right. He opened the door to his workroom and Remus stood right there at the threshold.
Snape didn’t have time to say a word. He didn’t even have time to search Remus’ eyes or mind for an explanation. Remus immediately moved forward and pressed his lips to Snape’s with a fierce, powerful kiss. Remus, it could be said, was a damn fine kisser. Just enough moisture, just enough tongue, just enough contact, just at the right angle, for just the right amount of time.
When Remus pulled away, Snape could still feel the sensation of the kiss upon his mouth, and he desperately wanted it back again. “Remus,” he whispered, and pulled the man back into the room.
Author: KateKintail
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Kinks: wanking
Pairing: Remus/Snape?
Disclaimer: This story is NOT of JKR’s making. I make no money from this at all. I also do not condone the keeping of werewolves as unwilling sex slave love pets.
Summary: Unable to make ends meet after the war, Remus submits himself to the Ministry’s program for werewolves.
Word Count: 1,473
Notes: Written for pervy_werewolf’s Lusty Month of May 2010
It wasn’t natural to go out and purchase the thing that scared you the most and keep it around to constantly haunt your thoughts and dreams. It was, however, normal to want to get rid of the thing that scared you the most and banish it from the world entirely. And that was why Snape had spent more than a year trying to develop some sort of cure for werewolves.
His first thought was that it was something in the blood, and if he could just eliminate certain elements within the werewolf, the wolfishness would die away. A werewolf was only a wolf for one night every month, after all, not even a full 12 hours sometimes, depending on the time of the year. There had to be some way of addressing just that one little bit that turned a man into a terrible, vicious, mindless killer.
The more he studied and experimented with potions, the more he grew to realize he needed real werewolves. He was nowhere near testing any solutions, but he couldn’t move forward without collecting samples. Luckily, the Ministry of Magic made that task easier than expected. All he had to do was fork over most of his monthly salary as a professor and he, too, could be the owner of his very own werewolf.
His nightmares, which had been sporadic for a while, returned every night a werewolf was in his house. Every night he saw the sharp canine teeth gnashing and the solid, glowing amber eyes. Every morning he had to wake up, knowing his greatest fear was lying in wait just down the hall in his guest bedroom.
He had to collar them. The werewolves weren’t told everything that the collars did, because none would be willing to accept a collar with such knowledge. They knew, of course, that the collars suppressed the ability to do magic and prohibited them from talking. But the collars also weakened the werewolves considerably, especially the longer one was worn, and made it physically impossible for a werewolf to harm its owner in any way. If one tried, he would be instantly knocked unconscious, during which time restraints could be applied and the offending werewolf could even be transported back to the Ministry. Snape knew most of the werewolves in the program were either broken or degenerate. They were either pitifully submissive or highly unstable. Snape didn’t like to see the ones in the first camp and he certainly didn’t trust the ones in the second group. The collar was an absolute necessity.
The men did not especially like having their blood drawn, but with no choice in the matter, they submitted. Snape would keep them fed and clean until trading them in again at the Market. He went through quite a few of them before realizing that the solution did not lie with blood, but with another bodily fluid.
This was why he settled on the gay males of the species. In a pinch he could handle one of the straight males, but it was easier to get the pofters worked up and in a fit state to perform the actions he required.
He hadn’t wanted Remus to know. In fact, he had thought about just taking Remus back to the Market once he felt better. Letting Remus know he was working on something to cure werewolves meant showing Remus a vulnerability Snape did not ever want to show the wolf who had tried to kill him as a schoolboy. Letting Remus know about the research would inform Remus that he was still scared, and still tied to his past. But, at the same time, he felt like, of them all, Remus would understand how that felt. And, perhaps, Remus would want to help make it up to Snape, to redeem himself for his part in that potentially deadly prank.
“I need you to come for me,” Snape said, after they had finished breakfast.
Remus’ eyes were wide and white. They locked onto Snape’s black ones and stayed there for a few moments. Then, without looking away, Remus got up from the table, pulled up his robes, and pulled down his pants.
Snape should have seen this coming. He jumped up and steered Remus out of the kitchen by the shoulders. What had once been this house’s dining room had been converted into Snape’s workroom. Bottles and jars lined one whole wall, cauldrons and notebooks were strewn across a scrubbed wooden table. And an unusually large fireplace looked like it had grown right out of the floor on the far side.
“Lupin…” Snape began, hating the uncertainty in his voice already, and he hadn’t even decided how to explain this.
Turning, Remus looked into his eyes again, then put a finger to his own lips. He needed no explanation. Either the reason did not matter or he already understood; Snape wasn’t sure which. But Snape was strangely excited. He hadn’t counted on enjoying watching Remus wank, but he couldn’t deny the morning had been arousing. Snape couldn’t deny the anticipation building within him now at the thought of getting to see that again, up close this time.
Remus reached under his robes again and began stroking himself rapidly, impressively. Remus’ body was stiff, rigid. There was nothing in it that Snape recognized from the wank in the shower. This was merely a chore he had to complete. His wrist bent and hand jerked, pulling at his cock with quick little strokes. His expression was blank.
Snape tried not to look disappointed. He tried to pretend that amazingly hot visual wasn’t something he wanted again, at his disposal. He tried to pretend there was nothing behind his request but his research. Pursuit of knowledge. Successful discovery. Worldwide recognition of an amazing achievement. It had nothing to do with his overly willing, rather sexy, probably incredibly skilled love slave.
Remus stood there, working his cock clinically, stroking and stroking. His cock was hard, but that was all, it seemed. Snape leaned close, hardly daring to speak. “Do you need help?” Suddenly, Remus moved closer, into his owner’s chest, and took a few deep breaths of Snape’s scent.
After that, Snape barely had time to reach for a bottle and pull out the stopper before Remus was ready. Unable to speak, to announce it coming, Remus grabbed hold of Snape’s arm and squeezed tightly, urgency in his eyes. Snape held the bottle up and helped ease the head of Remus’ cock in past the mouth. The cock was warm, strong, and made him shiver with excitement at the touch. He hoped Remus couldn’t tell, couldn’t smell, couldn’t see, couldn’t sense it. Snape desperately wanted to reach down and touch himself. Instead, he settled for holding the bottle as Remus filled it two-thirds full of seed.
This would be useful, Snape was sure. But this still felt wrong, like a mistake. It didn’t feel the way it had with all the other werewolves.
When they were done, and the stopper was on the bottle finally, Snape dismissed Remus. “Thank you. I’m sure this will be useful. Why don’t you go read another book while I’m working, Lupin?” He motioned toward the door.
Remus hesitated, his gaze lingering on Snape. Then he nodded obediently and left the room.
Snape let out a deep breath, having not realized he had been holding one. He bent over the table to write out a label for the bottle. But his hand shook so his first few attempts at “Lupin” looked like an L and then a jumbled, squiggly mess. Deciding that labeling could wait, Snape tried to turn his attention toward his latest concoctions. None of them were strong enough. It was possible that any successful potion would have to carry some sort of element unique to the werewolf it was meant to cure.
He tried his best to concentrate on the tasks at hand, at the research, but his mind kept straying toward Remus. He didn’t know why, but he thought he might check in with him, just to be sure the man had found a book all right. He opened the door to his workroom and Remus stood right there at the threshold.
Snape didn’t have time to say a word. He didn’t even have time to search Remus’ eyes or mind for an explanation. Remus immediately moved forward and pressed his lips to Snape’s with a fierce, powerful kiss. Remus, it could be said, was a damn fine kisser. Just enough moisture, just enough tongue, just enough contact, just at the right angle, for just the right amount of time.
When Remus pulled away, Snape could still feel the sensation of the kiss upon his mouth, and he desperately wanted it back again. “Remus,” he whispered, and pulled the man back into the room.