We've been fighting with the wolves

The hardest part, Severus Snape levelled as he stared for the first time into the feral eyes of a Werewolf; was that it was rutting its head over his palm in a plea for affection instead of trying to rip out his throat. The great brutish monster that had flashed its teeth and growled out a warning when Snape had stepped up into the Shrieking Shack had gone from blood thirsty to attention starved in the bat of an eye.

Snape was almost ashamed of the way he had initially shrieked and threw his hands up over his face in a feeble attempt to shield himself from the monster. His eyes closed and his body stiff in anticipation of those killer teeth sinking into his flesh; instead what had greeted him had been a rough and wet tongue across the top of his head followed by the most pitiful whine Severus had ever heard. Had he not been forced to open his eyes and stare into the feral eyes of his enemy then he never would have believed this to be the actions of a Werewolf.

Black was going to be so disappointed, Snape smirked. Picturing the scrawny boys face when Snape emerged from the shack with only a wet line across his fore-head and a pliant Wolf under his palms. The smile that thought brought to his face must have been mistaken as consent for the Werewolf who then proceeded to thump its tail against the floor in excitements and force Severus onto his back.

With the burly creature laying over him, and those deadly jaws and cold nose between the joint of his shoulder and neck Snape had stopped breathing for a second. Because if this was what death felt like then he was more than willing to take the reapers out-stretched hands. Even like this the image it conjured in Severus' head of the Wolves more sociable form was enough to heat his cheeks. Even with all those extra muscles and fur Severus was still looking up into the honey kissed eyes of one Remus Lupin—a slightly more affectionate Lupin for sure but there was no mistaking those eyes this close.

Severus could hardly breath; there was after all a hulking great Were-beast laying over his chest—but it was the touch starved way in which Remus pawed at him and licked at his cheek, the way he mewled happily when Severus laid his hand on the wolves' head and whined low in his throat when Severus froze.

He never imagined that Remus would greet him in such a manor—even more so during his transformation when his raw instincts came into play and there was little room for kind little Remus Lupin in that snarling mass of blood-thirsty thoughts.

As the wolf settled with him on the floor, Severus laying awkwardly with his back propped up against the wall and Remus' large head in his lap, he mused heatedly over his run in with the Gryffindor a few weeks prior. Remembering the way Remus had shifted awkwardly and deliberately dropped his book onto Snape's lap as he passed—cheeks flushed and his eyes not quite with Severus'. It had been a book on Werewolf behaviour, thinking back Snape flushed when he pictured the chapter title and swallowed the lump in his throat.

A Werewolf and its mate.

He hadn't read it, just snarled at the lurking prefect and pointedly snapped the book shut. Had Snape known that it was possibly Lupin's way of dropping a hint he may have paid more attention. He made a note to check the book out of the library as soon as the morning arrived.

Well—maybe not as soon as the morning arrived. He teased himself, stroking at the werewolf's ear when it whined again. He would have to at least let poor Lupin know that he had gotten the message loud and clear this time around, first.

~ Reviews as always are appreciated. ~