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themostepotenteIt's been too long since I wrote Snack. Thought I had to remedy that this w/e! *G*
Title: The &^%$#@! Profanity Jar
Pairing: Snape/Sirius
Rating: Hard R
Length: a little under 1000 words
Summary: Arthur insists upon a profanity jar. Snape and Sirius humor him.
Kinks: coarse language, humor, snark
Disclaimer: Oh, so not mine. This market's been cornered.
A/N: Written for my newest Snack buds,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nehalenia and nishizono.
Betaed byvenivincere. Any mistakes thereafter are mine own.
The &^%$#@! Profanity Jar
It was just an ordinary glass jar, one Molly Weasley used for pickling or preserving. There was even a faint smell of herring when opened. But even fouler than the stench of cured fish was a…
"Profanity jar?" Sirius asked in disbelief. "Oh, come off it, Arthur. We're all adults here. What's a little GD between family?"
"On the contrary," Arthur said, taping a sign to the glass. "My children don't need to hear your filthy mouths. Hopefully, this will discourage you lot."
Sirius picked up the jar and examined it, rolling his eyes.
Goddamn = 5 Sickles
Fuck = 4 Sickles
Cunt = 3 Sickles, 1 Knut
Cock = 3 Sickles
Bastard = 2 Sickles, 1 Knut
Shit = 2 Sickles, 1 Knut
Bloody = 2 Sickles, 1 Knut
Arse = 2 Sickles, 1 Knut
Sirius swore.
Arthur put four Sickles in the slot. "That's your one and only freebie, Sirius. That goes for you as well, Fletcher."
Mundungus farted in response.
Arthur plugged his nose. "Good God, man," he said, turning to Sirius. "Does he do anything besides drink, sleep and break wind?"
"Unlikely," Sirius said. He pulled the chair out from under Fletch to wake him up. "There's that arsehole, talking behind your back again, Mung." He picked up the jar and cradled it lovingly, placing a kiss to the stout glass figure. "It's best if you lot vacate the room. I have a jar to make sweet love to."
Arthur shook his head. "Honestly." Not a moment after he left the room, he heard a string of deafening profanities and a heavy clank of change.
Snape had always suffered a bout of insomnia here and there starting from his teenage years. Neither a book nor the marriage of cock and hand would put him to sleep this night, so he decided to make himself a cup of chamomile tea to lull himself to dreamland. Nobody was ever in the kitchen past two a.m., so it was quite the unpleasant surprise to see…
"Black," Snape hissed. "Shouldn't you be passed out somewhere, face down in a puddle of your own vomit?"
Black didn't look up from his place at the table. "Haven't had a drop to drink in over a week. Not that it's any of your concern, Snivellus."
"What's that you're doing?" Snape asked, turning the jar around to read the label. "Ah, yes, Lupin did mention something about a profanity jar." He leant in kiss-close and flashed Black a dingy smile. "And how you couldn't tear yourself away."
"Shut it, Snape, or I'll break this jar over your fucking head."
Snape sat down next to Black just to aggravate him. "Oh, now that's going to cost you four Sickles, Black. You should make it five, though, for using it as an adjective rather than a verb."
Black folded his arms across his chest in defiance. "As if I'd listen to you."
"You'll do it if you wish to avoid being hexed," Snape said with a sly smile. "I know you don't have your wand on you." He crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands in his lap, enjoying the power he had over Black.
Black eyed Snape suspiciously. "How did you know I didn't have my wand on me?"
"You just told me, you imbecile."
Snarling, Black deposited four Sickles in the jar. "You still want me, don't you? You've always carried a torch for me."
Despite his thirteen-year stay in Azkaban, Black was still fairly handsome. His smile was just as disarming as it had been all those years ago - even with a piece of spinach caught between his teeth. Snape, however, said nothing about that. Black needed a flaw.
"Only in the way that Joan of Arc's condemners carried a torch for her," Snape winked, inciting a bit of historical irony.
"Lying fucking cunt!" Black spat.
"Seven Sickles one Knut. I do bring out the worst in you I've noticed. Gently now, Black," Snape sneered as Black dropped more coins in the jar. "We don't want to wake the house."
"Greasy bastard."
Snape nodded towards the jar and three more coins followed. At this rate, he would collect more donations than fucking UNICEF. And still he remained tightlipped. Black would go unchallenged.
"What's the matter, Snape? Don’t you swear? Are you that prim and proper, you fucking wanker?"
Snape proceeded to point to the jar, but Black waved his hand away. There was a satisfying sound of plinking Sickles.
Snape rolled his eyes. "Why swear when I don't have to say anything at all to get a rise out of you?"
"Oho?" Black laughed in mock surprise, shooting up from his chair. "I think it's quite the reverse, Snape. Why else would your legs be crossed and your hands folded?"
The apple in Snape's throat bobbed nervously when Black's hands curled around his shoulders. Underneath his hands and robe, Snape's cock stirred. And then the cunning bastard lingered behind his chair. Black was the devil come-lately and the angel come-never.
Snape sat there a moment, impossibly hard, caught in the segue between agony and ecstasy, before he stood. He straightened his robes in a dignified manner before opening the jar and adding a handful of silver. "Prim and proper my pale, skinny arse. I'm going to march you upstairs and show you how to properly fill that bloody jar."
With a quicksilver wristlock he took hold of Black, mirth and a touch of madness in Snape's eyes.
Fin
Title: The &^%$#@! Profanity Jar
Pairing: Snape/Sirius
Rating: Hard R
Length: a little under 1000 words
Summary: Arthur insists upon a profanity jar. Snape and Sirius humor him.
Kinks: coarse language, humor, snark
Disclaimer: Oh, so not mine. This market's been cornered.
A/N: Written for my newest Snack buds,
nehalenia and nishizono. Betaed by
venivincere. Any mistakes thereafter are mine own.It was just an ordinary glass jar, one Molly Weasley used for pickling or preserving. There was even a faint smell of herring when opened. But even fouler than the stench of cured fish was a…
"Profanity jar?" Sirius asked in disbelief. "Oh, come off it, Arthur. We're all adults here. What's a little GD between family?"
"On the contrary," Arthur said, taping a sign to the glass. "My children don't need to hear your filthy mouths. Hopefully, this will discourage you lot."
Sirius picked up the jar and examined it, rolling his eyes.
Fuck = 4 Sickles
Cunt = 3 Sickles, 1 Knut
Cock = 3 Sickles
Bastard = 2 Sickles, 1 Knut
Shit = 2 Sickles, 1 Knut
Bloody = 2 Sickles, 1 Knut
Arse = 2 Sickles, 1 Knut
Sirius swore.
Arthur put four Sickles in the slot. "That's your one and only freebie, Sirius. That goes for you as well, Fletcher."
Mundungus farted in response.
Arthur plugged his nose. "Good God, man," he said, turning to Sirius. "Does he do anything besides drink, sleep and break wind?"
"Unlikely," Sirius said. He pulled the chair out from under Fletch to wake him up. "There's that arsehole, talking behind your back again, Mung." He picked up the jar and cradled it lovingly, placing a kiss to the stout glass figure. "It's best if you lot vacate the room. I have a jar to make sweet love to."
Arthur shook his head. "Honestly." Not a moment after he left the room, he heard a string of deafening profanities and a heavy clank of change.
Snape had always suffered a bout of insomnia here and there starting from his teenage years. Neither a book nor the marriage of cock and hand would put him to sleep this night, so he decided to make himself a cup of chamomile tea to lull himself to dreamland. Nobody was ever in the kitchen past two a.m., so it was quite the unpleasant surprise to see…
"Black," Snape hissed. "Shouldn't you be passed out somewhere, face down in a puddle of your own vomit?"
Black didn't look up from his place at the table. "Haven't had a drop to drink in over a week. Not that it's any of your concern, Snivellus."
"What's that you're doing?" Snape asked, turning the jar around to read the label. "Ah, yes, Lupin did mention something about a profanity jar." He leant in kiss-close and flashed Black a dingy smile. "And how you couldn't tear yourself away."
"Shut it, Snape, or I'll break this jar over your fucking head."
Snape sat down next to Black just to aggravate him. "Oh, now that's going to cost you four Sickles, Black. You should make it five, though, for using it as an adjective rather than a verb."
Black folded his arms across his chest in defiance. "As if I'd listen to you."
"You'll do it if you wish to avoid being hexed," Snape said with a sly smile. "I know you don't have your wand on you." He crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands in his lap, enjoying the power he had over Black.
Black eyed Snape suspiciously. "How did you know I didn't have my wand on me?"
"You just told me, you imbecile."
Snarling, Black deposited four Sickles in the jar. "You still want me, don't you? You've always carried a torch for me."
Despite his thirteen-year stay in Azkaban, Black was still fairly handsome. His smile was just as disarming as it had been all those years ago - even with a piece of spinach caught between his teeth. Snape, however, said nothing about that. Black needed a flaw.
"Only in the way that Joan of Arc's condemners carried a torch for her," Snape winked, inciting a bit of historical irony.
"Lying fucking cunt!" Black spat.
"Seven Sickles one Knut. I do bring out the worst in you I've noticed. Gently now, Black," Snape sneered as Black dropped more coins in the jar. "We don't want to wake the house."
"Greasy bastard."
Snape nodded towards the jar and three more coins followed. At this rate, he would collect more donations than fucking UNICEF. And still he remained tightlipped. Black would go unchallenged.
"What's the matter, Snape? Don’t you swear? Are you that prim and proper, you fucking wanker?"
Snape proceeded to point to the jar, but Black waved his hand away. There was a satisfying sound of plinking Sickles.
Snape rolled his eyes. "Why swear when I don't have to say anything at all to get a rise out of you?"
"Oho?" Black laughed in mock surprise, shooting up from his chair. "I think it's quite the reverse, Snape. Why else would your legs be crossed and your hands folded?"
The apple in Snape's throat bobbed nervously when Black's hands curled around his shoulders. Underneath his hands and robe, Snape's cock stirred. And then the cunning bastard lingered behind his chair. Black was the devil come-lately and the angel come-never.
Snape sat there a moment, impossibly hard, caught in the segue between agony and ecstasy, before he stood. He straightened his robes in a dignified manner before opening the jar and adding a handful of silver. "Prim and proper my pale, skinny arse. I'm going to march you upstairs and show you how to properly fill that bloody jar."
With a quicksilver wristlock he took hold of Black, mirth and a touch of madness in Snape's eyes.
Fin
