FIC: The Caged Beast (Remus/Severus, NC17) Title: The Caged Beast Author: Serpenscript Pairing/Characters: Remus Lupin, Severus Snape Summary: When Death Eaters lock Remus in a cage with Severus on the full moon and denied wolfsbane, he resorts to any means to save Severus' life. Prompt: original Rating: NC-17 (R?) Word count: 2300~ Warnings: noncon, bestiality, knotting, rimming, blood Spoilers (Highlight to read): Author/Artist's notes: Written for Darkfest! IE, this is a DARK fic! Please pay attention to warnings!
The moon is full.
The first thing I’m aware of is pain. The air around me still echoing with the sound of snapping of bones and screams of agony and for a moment my head feels fogged and strange. I snarl and snap my jaws at an attacker that’s not there, bones and muscles aching as if I have taken on an entire pack of wolves at once. The ever-present man-voice is quiet, just there in the back of my head like a buzzing fly, but it’s easy to ignore as I stand up and shake myself, hoary grey fur falling into place. The moon burns bright in a cloudless sky overhead, its presence somehow both frightening and comfortable. Under its bright silver glow, I throw my head back and howl; not one answers my call or my challenge.
My belly growls, and I hunger - but even more than meat, I hunger for the hunt; to conquer, smell the bitter scent of fear and adrenaline, feel flesh underfoot, rending with my claws. I crave feeling the bright spike of pleasure, taste the salt-and-copper earth of blood, to test myself against my prey, hone my prowess.
But I am caged - caged! The sight of the bars fuels my anger and hunger, but no matter how hard I throw myself at them they do not bend or break. There are man-creatures outside in black robes and white masks. They laugh and point sticks, and lights come from the sticks. When the lights hit me, they hurt me even more. Nor can I reach them, though I try, snarling and lunging at the side of the cage and swiping at them as far as I can stretch an arm through the bars.
Eventually, they stop throwing the painful lights, and I stop fighting the bars to pace around my cage. It is larger than a den, a good four lengths wide. The floor of the cage is fake stone, grey and smooth; I cannot score it with my claws, nor dig through it.
Without the dark-furred man-creatures outside distracting me, I finally notice I am not alone in the cage. A black-haired, hook-nosed man-person is in the cage with me, cowering in a corner and reeking of fear. He doesn’t wear the fake furs humans can take on and off - he has no stick or thick pelt to protect his tender white flesh from me. No burning silver, no cold iron; no weapons at all. I can smell his blood, hot and thick, beneath his thin skin; I can hear his heart racing, his terrified rapid breathing.
He will offer me no challenge, no more than catching dinner. There is no hole to hide in, no way to outrun me. At best he will run circles around the cage until he tires, and then I shall cut him down and feast and slake the blood-lust, the need to kill.
But even as I bare my teeth and snarl with the thrill of the hunt in my blood, the buzzing man-voice grew louder until it was almost shouting. I shake my head in annoyance - but the voice doesn’t go away. Severus, the man-voice shouts at me. You know Severus! He’s a friend! FRIEND!
But that’s ridiculous. I have no friends. I need no friends; just food, sex, the hunt under a full moon, and sleep when the other three are sated. And the black-eyed man-thing shaking in fear might not offer much challenge in way of hunting, but he could be food - though he looks too lean to be satisfying. I can see the bumps of his spine and each of his ribs, but the lean muscle of his haunches and hind legs could sate my hunger for a while.
The man-voice buzzes quietly for a moment but I ignore it, stalking closer to the man in my cage, growling just to see him shake in fear. But even as I open my jaws for that first bite, the man-voice in my head shouts, PACK! And I have to think this over.
The man stumbles back when I lunge, throwing arms in front of his face - leaving himself exposed and weak. Another half lunge, and I knock him down, send him sprawling in an awkward tangle of limbs.
A low growl and a heavy paw against the man’s chest prevents him from running; I can feel his heart beating frantically against my foot, the blood just beneath the surface begging to be spilled and tasted. How can this snivelling cowardly man-creature be pack? Furless and clawless and toothless? This weak, thin-skinned man reeking of fear could never be pack!
But the man-voice reminds me of another need I have, pulling to mind the pleasures of mating and tight, welcoming heat. Even as I think of it I feel my cock poke out of the sheath; it has been long, too long, since I have mounted a bitch.
Sex, the man-voice suggests, though he sounds agonised when he says it. If you kill him, there will be no more hunting tonight. But hunt him to mate, then you can let him go, and hunt him again. Over and over.
The idea appeals to me, ugly and human though the man-creature might be. I don’t know why the man-voice is so reluctant to suggest it, or why it wasn’t the first thing to suggest. I will not take a man for a mate, but I can mount him, rut with him. I will force the man to submit, to take my cock and my seed. My prick aches as it slides out further from the sheath, and the air against it as I pace stimulates me - I want to fuck, and I want to fuck now.
The man’s in the wrong position for mounting, so I drag at his side with claws until he rolls away and onto his belly, showing his back to me. He lacks a tail to cover between his legs; and he jumps like a startled rabbit when I shove my nose between his cheeks and sniff. He smells nothing like a bitch in heat, but his scent isn’t unpleasant; musk, sweat, fear.
The man makes all kinds of noises - some loud, some strange, as I drag him far enough out of the corner to get him into position - he makes a sobbing sound when my teeth close over his ankle to draw him. And the sight of my prick, jutting from the sheath and beginning to leak fluid in my excitement, makes him shudder all over like prey run to ground. Once he figures out what I want, a snap of my teeth near his skin and a growl are all it takes to make him stop struggling.
He shivers and moans when I finally get him in place on all fours - or at least with his backside in the air, white skin and tiny crinkled hole inviting me. The muscle quivers and clenches as I nose at it; he makes a strange whimpering moan as I lick between his legs and scrape my tongue over his bare, defenseless genitals. The sharp scent of fear mingles with the musk between his legs, and I tremble with the thrill of forcing submission.
He makes another funny sound as I cover him, prick sliding along the channel between his legs. His back arches sharply when I plant my heavy paws on his upper back, pressing his head and chest to the ground. I’m eager to fuck; my cock is entirely out of the sheath and leaking clear lubricating fluid, smearing along his crease.
Even in position he is the wrong height and angle, and it takes several attempts to penetrate. He cries out sharply when I finally mount him successfully, haunches driving forward to stab my prick at the tight hole. He is tighter, drier than a bitch; the grasping pleasure of his channel shivers along my spine. I pull back and stab deeper, and this time my cock sinks all the way inside the man’s tight heat, drowning out the man’s sob of pain. He convulses and tightens in agony, but it feels good to me; I am the wolf. I fight, I fuck, I kill. My claws dig into his white shoulders as I snarl my dominance and pleasure.
He doesn’t have the charm a bitch has. He’s bare of fur and weak and pitiful, but his channel is hot and tight and clenches around me when I fuck hard. With every thrust of my cock into his body he trembles, squeezes, moans. He claws at the ground in weak rebellion and begs me to stop with human words. His refusal to submit even now, as I rut, enrages me. His lack of submission drives me to fuck harder, faster, even as the man’s screams taper off to gasps and sobs.
So I fuck hard, claws raking at the white back and shoulders as I frantically piston myself out of his channel. The rich scent of blood mixes with sweat and fear, and soon I feel my cock swell with my need. The body beneath me rocks under the force of my fucking, almost flailing, held in place by my weight, and I smell sweat and fear and blood and arousal. My heavy furred sack slaps against his smooth, fur-less backside as I rut, driving so deep and hard I shove him forward across the cage floor. The man’s body is so tight around my cock it’s almost painful, tight and silky and yet strangely fragile.
He is weak and ugly and will never compare to any bitch with a thick coarse pelt and flagged tail, but when he finally submits and goes still, I feed on the thrill of conquest and mating. His slack body beneath me, his channel grasping at my driving prick, makes pleasure sing through my blood.
I howl my dominance as my pleasure crests, and thrust deeply until the base of my cock swells. The knot ties me to his scrawny body, locking us in place while my cock pulses. I claim him finally, filling him with hot runny seed, trembling with the pleasure of release. The pressure of his body around my knot is too intense and I snarl; the smallest movement and the man beneath me trembles violently.
He keens when I try to step away, too tightly locked by the knot to pull free. The smell of semen mixes with the heady stink of fear - heady and powerful. I have conquered, and pleasure sates some of the rage that always pricks at my senses.
It is almost as good as hunting, and feeding. Almost. I think I will mount him again and again until I am sated; hear him scream in agony as I fuck him into submission.
Once the pleasure of copulating wears off I stir and try to move back every few minutes, and each time the man thrashes and cries out. The moon is higher in the sky when the knot finally shrinks enough to separate, and I finally pull myself free with a wet sucking sound, loosing a gush of semen. Blood and seed coat the man’s white flesh; he folds and collapses as if gutted. He trembles and moans like a tree in the wind, and only attempts to move when I press my nose against his backside. His hole is loose and gaping open from being mounted, but still inviting. He moans, low and sobbing, when I lick his hole with my rough tongue. His body quivers and tries to close, and blood and sweat and seed coats my tongue. I lick him several more times to feel him flinch and tremble, forcing my tongue into his raw channel.
When I tire of this, I flop to the floor of the cage. The bars still infuriate me; the man-people outside with their sticks and painful lights enrage me. But here inside the cage I have hunted, conquered, and and sated my lust. Now I will rest so I can rut again. I curl up and lick myself clean, my eyes following the man as he drags himself to the far side of the cage and curls up on his side.
I close my eyes and doze. When I wake, the moon is directly overhead. The man is awake too, eyes wide, watching me warily and shivering. The blood between his hind legs calls me. The scent, rich and heady, makes my belly growl. Surely I could slake another hunger now?
Hunt to mate, not to kill, the man-voice begs. Don’t kill, never kill - the voice bleats until I shut it out with a snarl. Annoyed and hungry, I shove myself to my feet and pad forward, ready to hunt - and and rut - again.
The man moans and rolls over onto his stomach as I approach, pain and fear twisting his strange, human face. His eyes look strangely dead and his skin is pale like he’s bled out, even though his chest rises and falls with each rapid breath.
His name is Severus Snape, he’s the bravest man you know - the buzzing intrudes on me again, and I shake my head with furiously.
Bravery is a foreign concept. Useless. I can’t hunt it, mount it, or fill my belly with it. But I can hunt and rut with and dominate the man in front of me, bury my cock in the tight hot channel of his body. Already, my cock begins to poke from its sheath.
The man’s trembling increases at the sight of it, but he moans like a wounded calf and forces himself to his knees - presenting, like a bitch in heat. His limbs shake as he pushes himself into position.
The man-voice at the back of my head is making strange sounds, the same sounds that the man in the cage with me is making, wetness streaking his face and making the cement beneath him damp.
He’s still alive, the man-voice repeats, over and over. He’ll survive this. He’ll live. He’s still alive...
I cover the man’s scrawny naked frame with my powerful and muscular bulk; mount, and thrust.