oh god.

Mar. 31st, 2010 07:50 pm
jouissant: image of nebula (Default)
[personal profile] jouissant
So a couple days ago, this post happened on [livejournal.com profile] kirkspock and I started thinking about Mirror!Spock being a Slytherin. And then, NATURALLY, I started thinking about Mirror!Spock/Snape.


When Severus Snape materializes in what he will later learn is the transporter room, he draws his wand. It’s force of habit, but it proves fortuitous. The man across the room from him has also drawn a weapon. It is shaped like a Muggle gun, but it doesn’t look like any gun Snape’s ever seen.

“Where the bloody hell am I?” says Snape.

Across the room, Spock raises an eyebrow. This man uses the same colorful language the Captain does when he is in a particularly disagreeable mood.

“You are ‘the bloody hell’ in the transporter room of the ISS Enterprise", says Spock. “Identify yourself. What is your business on board this ship?”

Snape gives him a withering stare. “I can assure you that I have no business here, wherever here is. I appear to have been waylaid.” He glances down at the bone-white mask in he holds. “I was en route to…a meeting.”

One of Chekov’s faction, perhaps? Spock thinks. Could he be so foolish as to beam his contact straight onboard the ship? Chekov has been a source of concern for months, but if he has committed so grievous an oversight, undue concern may be unwarranted. Spock relaxes a little.

The other man is still standing on the transporter pad. He looks…Spock has come to understand the Standard colloquialism “ruffled”, and he thinks it applicable in this instance. The man looks like an overlarge crow with its feathers out of place. He is presently occupied in smoothing the long black robes he wears, and Spock is not one to waste an opportunity. He crosses the transporter room in two strides and shoves the man roughly against a wall, the muzzle of his phaser nestled against the pale skin of the intruder’s throat.

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” hisses Snape, but Spock ignores him in favor of pinning him fast with one arm while reaching for the meld points on his face with the other. He breaks into the other’s mind to find it surprisingly well ordered, much more so than he expected from an ostensibly psi-null human. He gets a few brief, hot flashes of emotion before the other man grits out a single word- ”Occlumens!”- and Spock is abruptly pushed from his mind, the man’s defenses slamming shut before him like a steel trap.

Gasping for breath, Spock lifts his hand to brush away the greasy, lank hair obscuring the other man’s ear. It is an illogical impulse, but Spock feels the need to be sure. “You are not Vulcan,” he says. “Yet, your shielding abilities are impressive. I have not encountered one who could repel a meld so decisively.”

“Of course I’m not a bloody Vulcan, you fool,” Snape replies. “I’m a wizard. I am also an Occlumens of surpassing skill.”

Fascinating. Spock mentally sifts through what little he was able to glean from the brief meld. Anger, frustration, the barest hint of fear…and a frisson of something else. Experimentally, Spock presses the length of his body against the other man, who lets out a tiny gasp before biting down on his lower lip and stilling himself. Spock allows himself a small smile. His controls are excellent, thinks Spock, but he is, after all, only human. A human who, apparently, enjoys rough treatment. Breaking this one will be easy, after all.

The worst thing? It's kind of growing a plot. I have like 1500 words already. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME.
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