|
"Twisted sex?" Snape looked down at Harry with bemused horror. "Why would I want to have twisted sex with you?" "It's the author. She needs twisted Harry/Snape sex to wash the taste of yesterday's Hermione/Ron sex out of her mouth." Harry was looking rather pinker than normal. "Weasley and Granger had sex in her mouth?" Harry choked off a surprised giggle. "Was that a joke?" "I don't joke. Go away Potter, I don't have sex with little boys. Well, not by choice anyway, damn those sex-starved slashers." Snape shooed Harry toward the door. Harry looked down at himself. "Whoops, I'm in canon, aren't I?" He closed his eyes, muttered and started ageing. "Twenty-one okay for you? Seven years is about my limit for ageing spells." Snape crossed his arms and glared down at Harry, who was still short and scrawny, just not short, scrawny and fourteen any more. "Age is irrelevant. Doesn't it occur to you that I just don't want to have sex with you?" Harry looked blank. "Huh?" "Just. Not. Interested." Harry laughed. "Yeah, right. Have you seen the size of the Walking the Plank archive? That much slash doesn't just appear without subtext." "Really?" Snape grinned. Evilly. "Have you seen how much Harry/Ginny there is floating around the internet?" Harry shuddered. "Point taken. Let me put it this way. If the author doesn't get twisted Harry/Snape sex, she might start that alternate universe fic, the one where Ginny gets sorted into Slytherin..." With one swift move, a very pale and slightly nauseated Snape ripped Harry's shirt in two. "Bedroom. Now. I'll get the purple lube and the rubber thong."
|