mutterings of a music history major (thescarletwoman) wrote in scarletdreams, @ 2008-01-15 00:58:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | 2006, lucius malfoy, lucius/severus, rated: nc-17, severus snape |
[FIC] Severus/Lucius -- A Private Hell (NC-17)
Title: A Private Hell
Author: thescarletwoman
Pairing: Severus/Lucius
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Living in Malfoy Manor has turned into his own private hell.
A/N: As always, a large thank you to rose_whispers for the awesome beta job.
Originally Posted: May 2006
Summer was a beautiful time in his opinion -- if he deigned to call any season 'beautiful'. The weather was warmer now, but not oppressively so. There were always days where it felt as if the sweat was pouring out of his skin (no doubt due to the heavy robes he wore). Those days of brutal heat were rare though, but anything was welcome as long as it wasn't frigid temperatures.
Idly, he realised this was what the bastard Black had faced not three scant years ago. Amazing how in the blink of an eye and a thrown curse, he had been relegated to the same level as Black: no better, no worse. In a class of murderers, the only punishment left, death. Severus knew he was lucky in that respect. With the Dementors showing their true loyalty to the Dark Lord, Severus no longer had fear of the Kiss. It was either capture or taking his own life, which he would never contemplate. He had too much pride for that. Severus only knew that death at the hands of the Order would be far worse than any life sentence in Azkaban.
The Order. That brought thoughts of Remus. The man who had been the victim through all of this. Betrayed by Black in the first war. And now, in the second war, Severus had taken up the banner of betrayer. Again came the unwanted similarity between himself and Black. It struck him as strange, the man he so loathed was suddenly irrevocably intertwined in his thoughts by a series of unfortunate events.
Did that mean there was a veil waiting for him? A thin strip of fabric that would cut him off from everything, death at the hands of a curtain?
Severus’s thoughts kept returning to Black, unable to shift his mental focus away. Strange how in both their lives and the "murders" committed, both men had been exiled from their true loyalties. Both men, wholly loyal to the Order, and following their crimes, hated by every member. In both cases, neither had the opportunity to explain themselves. To shout to the world that they were innocent. Instead, they were hated by that world. It was only Severus who had been hailed as a hero by the Death Eaters. While the Wizarding world thought Sirius had been Death Eater loyal, wouldn't they have been shocked to know the man had always been hated by the Death Eaters?
Sirius had been given the opportunity for redemption. Would Severus ever be given the same courtesy? Or would the death of an innocent man finally bloody the hands of the Ministry?
He looked out over the manicured lawns of the Malfoy property. Sipping brandy that was older than he cared to contemplate. And cost more than he cared to know. Hundreds of galleons spent on one moment of bliss and burn. It was smooth and stung slightly as it slid down his throat. The pain was welcome. As was the slight pressure of hands as they caressed the tops of his shoulders like a brush of warm summer wind.
Turning his head, he was greeted with the sight of Lucius’s retreating back.
Perhaps he wasn't wholly innocent in all this. Perhaps he had not been forced to sleep in the wild and grow into the savage Black had become. Rather, he had been forced to endure a warm bed every night and an army of house elves to bend to his every wish.
And a warm bath in the morning to wash away the dried traces of come from between his legs and off his stomach.
The two of them were fugitives in their own right. Lucius from Azkaban, Severus from life itself. Tortured by the knowledge that he, at the base of the facts, was no better than Lucius.
It was the wind once more, or so Severus called it. The fleeting touch of fingers across the base of his neck, fighting through black strands to find skin. Severus closed his eyes and willed himself not to give in again. This was their agreement. Severus could stay here, safely guarded from the eyes of the Ministry while Lucius got what he wanted.
Resuming relations Severus had long thought were dead. Had hoped.
He followed the man's gait with his eyes. There was a slight limp to the walk now; Lucius leaned more heavily on his cane than he ever had in the past. Perhaps an after-effect of Azkaban. Lucius never offered an explanation. Severus never asked. Another of their unspoken agreements. Severus drew in a deep breath, catching Lucius’s gaze when the other man turned, just before reaching the antique French doors. Swallowing, Severus could feel his blood grow hot. The heat coursed through his veins with every beat of his heart, his pulse quickening. Severus’s body was finely tuned to these heated gazes and Lucius knew exactly which strings to pluck, creating an almost harmonious sound.
Not even the stone of the balcony railing beneath his hands could keep him grounded. Could hold him steady. Could keep him from following.
Technically speaking, Severus craved these looks though he would never admit to the weakness. Could feel alive when Lucius’s gaze raked over his form and set his very being on fire. Yet at the same time, he felt as if he lost a little piece of his soul with each look. Lucius was his Dementor, his kiss just as powerful as the hooded demon's. It only took longer for the full effect to take hold. Longer for him to lose his soul to darkness.
Though he attempted to force his body to remain where he was, Severus found himself releasing the railing and turning, almost against his own will. Blindly, Severus followed Lucius into the house, easily matching him stride for stride. Lucius’s eyes had a look of triumph lurking within those silvery depths. Being pushed against the wall allowed Severus to hide the look of resignation lurking in his expression. The one emotion Severus would allow himself. Acceptance. Resignation. No longer caring. Dead.
He pushed back against Lucius’s grip, managing to turn around in the small space Lucius allowed him. Hands immediately went to Lucius’s robes, fingertips running over expensive fabric. Cotton mixed with silk, his fingers told him. The hands searched Lucius’s chest, skimming across his clothing while Lucius’s tongue plundered Severus’s mouth mercilessly. It was a fight for dominance Severus knew he had no chance of winning. Severus didn't respond, beyond what his mind had no control over. Lucius was a cruel lover, taking and taking while giving nothing in return.
Severus knew he would be facing the wall soon; it was only a matter of time. Trousers around his ankles, stepping out of them to make room for his lover, hands clinging to smooth plaster and cursing his body for giving in so easily. On the basest of emotions, Severus admitted that he wanted this. Wanted to feel alive again, even if the fleeting moment was bestowed upon him by Death itself.
He moved without being told. Stepped and spread his legs and felt his body open with the aid of a few whispered words. Another nudge and Severus spread his legs further, making room for the man behind him. Severus braced his hands against the plaster, gritting his teeth and let his forehead rest against the cream -coloured support. His jaw clenched, feeling Lucius slide in inch by glorious/hated/perfect/torturous inch. Paint chipped off under his fingernails, tiny pinpricks of pain as they forced themselves into the nail bed.
There were no whispered words of love and devotion. No murmurings of sweet nothings and names moaned under their breaths. Only the sound of Lucius’s slicked cock sliding in and out of Severus, their breath nearly covering every other sound in the corridor. Severus, for all his evils and patented emotionless face, hated this. Hated the impersonal nature, sex reduced to nothing more than fucking. Two men, seeking their need in each other. It had never been like this before, even with Lucius. Perhaps this had become further proof of how much his life had changed because of one man's request nearly twenty years ago.
Perhaps one day, he wouldn't be afraid to be vocal during sex. Wouldn't be afraid of the name or the emotions he might confess in the heat of the moment. Or perhaps one day, he would become as cold and as merciless as the man who now pounded into him and bruised Severus’s hips with the press of his fingers. One day, he would forget what love was and content himself only with the need to force himself to completion, and not give a damn about his partner. Perhaps that is what one learned in Azkaban. This was becoming his own private hell, but he had no desire to stop it.
It took one touch brush of fingers against his cock to come, Severus not even sure whose hand touched him. Severus bit his lower lip to stifle his moans. Behind him, Lucius groaned with his orgasm, hips rocking forward as he pumped his seed into Severus’s body. There they remained for a long moment, panting and mutually gasping for breath that wouldn't return to their lungs.
The warm wind came in off the balcony, drying the sweat and come and sweeping most evidence of sex away on the ghost of a breeze. Come clung to his leg like a desperate lover. Severus closed his eyes, feeling Lucius pull out and the consequent sound of cleaning spells mumbled and the zip of a trouser being done up. His legs were clean, there would be no need for a bath. Severus reached down, dragging the trousers up over his hips and buttoning them, no word spoken.
"Dinner is at six o'clock," Lucius said, turning and walking from Severus. The only sound in the hall the trio of footfalls and the tap of the cane on marble flooring.
Severus could only nod blindly, his eyes following the limping blond until he turned a corner and was out of sight. He slipped from the corridor and returned to the balcony and his brandy. Forcing his mind away from tawny hair and hazel eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere. Accusing yes, but for once, Severus was unsure of what he was guilty of.
A name was spoken into his brandy. Remus. It became both a benediction and a curse on his tongue.
A voice, then, interrupting his thoughts. "It's getting colder."
Severus closed his eyes, her voice washing away the ghosts of his past. With his eyes closed, he could escape those hating/accusing brown eyes.
"Summer will last a bit longer. It's only July," Severus replied.
"I wasn't speaking of the weather."
Opening his eyes, Severus turned to look at his lover's wife, but she had already disappeared, a waving curtain the only evidence she had ever been there. Again, the image of a waving curtain. Perhaps one didn't have to fall through a curtain in the Department of Mysteries to die. Drawing in a deep breath, Severus looked out over the perfect lawns once more.
Narcissa was right. It was getting colder.