Disclaimer: I do not own Wolverine or Severus Snape, they are copyright Marvel and JK Rowling respectively.
Rating: NC-17 for male/male sex, bloodplay, and cursing.
Author's Note: This is a cross-over between the X-men and Harry Potter worlds, it's a pairing my friend CrowSkyler and I have come up with out of our depraved little minds. This particular fic is nothing but a one-shot focused on a very intimate scene between Snape and Logan, as well as some mild introspection on Logan's part.
The crimson droplets look so strange on his death-like skin, flesh tainted by the path he unsurreptitiously chose. Of course, when he was serious about it and wanted to be part of it everyone knew and hated him for it, but now that he's found his err it still latches onto him, lingers in his blood. Blood so different than my own, I can smell the magic in it, though I never knew the smell before I can place it now without a moments hesitation. It's metallic, like human blood naturally is, but it has a bittersweet lacing to it. Light and airy, too, like it's there but then it's not. It's really hard to describe a smell, even when you have heightened senses like I do.
The cool metal shifts between my knuckles, sliding out further through my skin with the ease of water through my fingers. He likes it, I can tell from the small quiver that starts in his lower back and travels up to his shoulder blades. It doesn't bother me, I kind of like it too. Sometimes I wonder if I always had an affinity for blood, back in the day when I would let myself get as messed up as was mutantly possible for me, when there's nothing but muscle and blood and bones while the healing factor desperatly claws at the pieces of skin tissue clinging onto my form, trying to sew it back together like some crude ragdoll.
It was those moments when I got a burst of bloodlust, sometimes I couldn't control myself, the smell of my own blood invading my nostrils, awakening that beast in me which I try to hide. The same kind of beasts that lurks within the man in front of me, only his is driven by something else. Something I may never understand, because his lifestyle is so much different than mine. Yet, we are so similar.
We are respected and feared by many, we have our true friendships and we have the friendships that only serve a certain purpose, a certain gain. We may have loved at one point but that thought is gone now, for how could love be an option in a life such as he or I lead?
So then what is it am I getting myself into now? I don't love this man, but I feel I could learn to. And as I play my claws along my own chest, feeling the tinge of pain that is so familiar to me, I know that he is thinking the same. His dull pink tongue licks slowly at my chest, sucking at the hairs to be sure and get all of it. Bloodplay can be such a fucking turnon with the right person and the right surroundings. This dungeon is so the right place for it, better than my temporary home in Yorkshire where I originally met this man, this Severus.
A groan brought me out of the reverie I was about to fall into, my eyes locking onto his brown-black eyes. His stare was so penetrating, almost as if he could see into my mind, my soul.
Suddenly I felt a strange sensation and before I knew it I was reliving the moment when we faced eachother for the first time. My nerves were still on edge from being eaten alive by a rather nasty spell. Then he was talking to me, in a condescending sneer as my healing factor was freakin' out not knowing what happened to my body but knowing something was damaged.
Something about a Dark Lord and Moogles or some shit, I couldn't catch all of it but the parts that I did understand didn't sound too hot. He called me a bumbling idiot for messing with greater forces than I was ready for, and I called him a posh asshole who thinks the world only revolved around him. I went into a rant about why exactly I was in East Riding Yorkshire, an "American" like me as he had phrased it, about the secret government experiments that they were fucking around with and how I used to be one of them until I grew a conscience and ran off.
I ain't no normal human being or American or whatever term he had for me, I was a mutant and I showed him the curse that laced my skeleton. 'Do you still think you're the only one who's got a world to save?' I asked him after finishing my story and watching the expressions on his face change from snobbish to concern and finally to anger. He looked into my eyes...
I was snapped out of that memory quickly and Severus smirked at me, at the questioning look on my face. There was still so much I didn't know about him, about his magic abilities and what he could do. That flashback was proof, and if he could make me relive a moment that happened two weeks ago, I imagined what it would be like if he could help me remember something that happened a century earlier.
I had so much to learn about magic, witches and wizards, dark lords and Death Eaters, but all I cared about right now was this dungeon, and the man who resided within them. The man who was now ministrating my nipples, coaxing a low groan out of me, my hips gaining a rhythm too quick for an average human to keep up.
As I feel the pressure building in my groin I lean down to bite his shoulder, softly at first then harder as I reach climax. His fingers dig into my back undoubtly carving bloody half-moons in my skin. I come, growling into the bleeding bite mark I made, driving in faster until he too gives in to a groan of release, sweat rolling off the tip of his nose as he flings his head back onto the bed. And as we lay there, my ear to his chest to hear his wildly thumping heartbeat, I forget all the mysteries about Severus and ponder the one thing I do know:
Wizards are a great lay.