Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3143429.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Severus_Snape, Lucius_Malfoy/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Severus_Snape, Draco_Malfoy, Lucius_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Caning, Bloodplay, Potions, Lies, Coercion, Trust, Revenge, Humiliation,
      Pain, Kneeling, Master/Pet, Obedience, Sleep_Deprivation, Non-Consensual
      Voyeurism, Poison, Lust, Lust_Potion/Spell, Teacher-Student_Relationship,
      Spells_&_Enchantments, Intoxication, Non-Consensual, Dubious_Consent,
      Kissing, Submission, Dominance, Blood, Swords, Blood_Drinking, Licking,
      Fingerfucking, Biting, Teenagers, Slightly_Underage
  Stats:
      Published: 2004-06-23 Words: 6025
****** Cankerous Venom ******
by Empy_(Empyreus)
Summary
     Perhaps revenge was a dish best served cold, Severus mused. A
     generation cold by now, as he would make Draco Malfoy pay for what
     Lucius had done so many years ago.
Notes
     Takes place during Draco's seventh year at Hogwarts.
     Warnings: Mild caning and bloodplay.
     Thanks to
     [http://l-stat.livejournal.net/img/userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=123.1]
littlemimm, [http://l-stat.livejournal.net/img/
userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=123.1]shalna and [http://l-stat.livejournal.net/img/
userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=123.1]tvillingar for the beta and endless patience. (And
for not laughing at me.)
There were so many potions not in the curriculum, many more than Severus could
name offhand. If he did not teach them to students, they would have no way of
knowing how to counteract them. And that, Severus smiled, was precisely what
played in his favour. How could flaxen-blond Draco Malfoy hope to clear the
taint of the potion from his blood if he did not know what he was being made to
drink in the first place? Well, perhaps "made" was an ill-chosen word. It would
involve so little coercion on his part, so pale white a lie about cures if it
came to convincing. Draco trusted Severus more than he trusted Madame Pomfrey,
and of course he would do as his Head of House told him to do.
Draco Malfoy, self-proclaimed ruler of the Slytherin House. Seventeen years
old, no longer naïve. Legal, by most accounts, even though that hardly mattered
to Severus.
Perhaps revenge was a dish best served cold, he mused. A generation cold by
now, as he would make Draco Malfoy pay for what Lucius had done so many years
ago. However, that was only the topmost reason, the one he could serve up to
himself when he faltered.
Make him taste his own medicine. Make him bow to the cane in helpless
humiliation. He didn't need to close his eyes to see the memory. Seventh-year
Slytherin prefect Lucius Malfoy, already then every inch the dandy, leading
around his chosen pet, a scared and cowed second-year student named Severus
Snape.
"Well then, Snivellus, bow to your master. I said bow down!" Then a lash of the
cane, ebony meeting skin and bone. Of course he had bowed then, fallen to his
knees in the draughty Slytherin common room, his ribs pulsing with pain. What
else could he do? Oh, he knew death spells and spells that incapacitated, but
his mouth would not form the words. He was caught in Lucius's trap like a fly
in treacle, and the more he struggled, the worse it all got. He was a galley
slave now, and he had never been given a choice.
Of course he had fallen for Lucius. Everyone did, but he had never dared play
for popularity, never even thought of trying to gang up with Lucius's band of
chosen wizards. Fate, being her usual cruel self, had stepped in to arrange
things for him, however. He had been picked. There was no declining that offer,
he soon found out, and no way out. He had not been chosen by virtue of looks,
or reputation, but merely because Lucius Malfoy had decided he needed someone
to humiliate. A personal pet. There were no rewards for Severus for obedience,
nor was there ever respite.
"You don't need sleep, Snivellus. Up with you. You're standing guard by my bed
tonight." And he did so, obeyed because there was no other choice. He sat on
the cold floor, shaking, with his hands pressed to his ears to keep out the
noise of Lucius entertaining some casual lover in his bed.
He saw the same cruelty in Draco, but fancied that perhaps the features weren't
already set in the cold hard lines of the Malfoy clan. He could beat Lucius at
his own game. There was time yet, he told himself.
 
A potion of Severus's own devising, this one. It was not pure Thessalian
philtre, but half poison and half philtre. Venereal venom. Aconite and
nightshade, jimsonweed and mandrake, their poisons distilled and mixed with the
nectar of the Solandra trumpet plant. Enough of all venoms to make the victim
giddy and pliant for a moment, then drowsy and elated, easily aroused. The
potion was a mellow amber colour, like a tongue of liquid flame caught in the
narrow glass vial. The higher the full moon rose this night, the more potent
the draught would be. Oh, he knew he was toeing the line of propriety, even
stepping boldly and carelessly across it. Still, weren't all things allowed in
lust and merciless deception? He wouldn't think to call the potion a love
potion. No, never, because the word burned on his tongue. Love was a lie to
him, but lust was honest - so why not call it a philtre for lust? It was the
same alchemy harnessed to work as it was when he blended poison, and there was
death in every vial but under a hundred different names. What would it matter
if he changed an incorrect name for a more honest one?
There was time yet, so there was no rush for him to set into action his
sinister little game. He swiftly crossed the paved courtyard, heading for a
slight rise on the neatly manicured lawns. Leaning against the wide bole of an
oak nearby, he watched the seventh-year Slytherin students attempt defensive
spells. Crabbe, still the towering oaf, was paired up with Draco, and though he
couldn't hear their voices, Severus knew that Crabbe would fail when casting
the jinx.
His suspicion was confirmed in the next moment. Crabbe gave a great wave of his
wand, his mouth forming the misshapen jinx, and Draco had little time in which
to decide which counter-curse to use. In the end, he resorted to a spell
stronger than he should have, and the impact of the two jinxes knocked him
backward.
"Crabbe, you gibbering fool," sneered Severus as he rushed over, studiously
ignoring the rest of the students and the professor. "Were you attempting a
kill or a spell?" He didn't care to hear Crabbe's explanation, and leaned down
to help Draco to his feet. "Knowing you, Mr Crabbe, you're as likely to have
bungled the spell beyond recognition as you are to have bodily hurt him. On
your feet, Malfoy. We'll need to have you seen to, all to ascertain that the
ever-able Mr Crabbe hasn't managed somehow to cause massive internal injury in
this his latest megalomaniacal, not to mention misguided, attempt at spell-
casting."
"Drink this, Malfoy," he said as he walked alongside his tall protégé, leading
him away from the other students. The glass vial twinkled briefly in the dying
light of day before Draco closed his hand over it. "It takes the edge off the
counter-jinx tremors." He was rewarded with a thin smile, but it was genuine
and reached the pale grey eyes. Draco was like his father, so much like Lucius.
His trust was not given easily, but Severus knew so well how to choose his
words to gain what he needed. He had had practice with the elder Malfoy, had
had time to formulate his plan to perfection, and Draco's youth aided him.
Ultimately, it was all down to subtlety. Crabbe may have helped the plan along
unwittingly, thanks to his clumsiness, but the larger part was still waiting to
be unfolded.
Draco asked nothing about the draught, only upended the vial and drank it all
down obediently. He furrowed his brow briefly, then licked his lips as if to
catch a last taste. Severus wouldn't have been surprised if Draco's tongue had
been forked; so serpentine was the blond wizard that walked next to him over
dark-emerald grass that was slowly withering from the autumn chill.
Draco's step suddenly faltered, jarring against the sodden ground. "Steady
now," murmured Severus, grabbing a handful of black robes. "Perhaps you took
too great a stun?"
"Was bloody Crabbe, the idiot," muttered Draco, his voice sounding nearly
slurred. "Waved his wand like a conductor, couldn't be happy with a flick.
Idiot," he reiterated, and only then seemed to realize he was being led toward
the wrong entrance. "Where--" he began, but stopped as Severus gave a curt wave
of his hand.
"Be silent, Malfoy. You didn't honestly think I would bodily haul you all the
way up to the infirmary to have that insufferably fussy Madame Pomfrey
mismedicate you?"
 
The stairwell leading down to the dungeons was like the maw of a Grim, but
Severus knew the way and remembered each chipped step of the stairs. Few
students walked in the cellar hallway unless they had to, hence his walking
Draco down the stairs and in the direction of the dungeons did not constitute a
risk. He snuffed the candles lining the hallway with jerky, ruthless motions of
fingers and hands; he burned his palms not once but thrice. For each
extinguished candle, Draco's gaze deepened, as much a trick of the light as an
indication that the potion was working its way through the boy's veins. He was
mercifully quiet, as though he knew well what was to come, and that suspicion
had a brief chill race down Severus's spine. Only the philtre, he told himself,
only the effects of the potion.
The ward spells around the door to his private quarters were strong enough to
keep outside those who were unwanted.
Draco had barely set foot inside the room before his knees buckled, and he slid
to the floor in an ungainly heap, all his elegance gone. Severus, not one foot
behind him, had to pull him to his feet, and it was no easy task. Draco's limbs
lolled, and he seemed unable to even stand on his own. The philtre was exerting
too strong an influence on the boy, all because of the full moon.
Draco leaned his whole body to the side as Severus lifted him to his feet. In a
swift but unsteady movement, he pressed a light kiss to the side of Severus's
mouth, his thin hands snarling into the wide folds of Severus's cloak. He was
smiling, giddy now and elated, constantly on the edge of laughter. Severus
wanted to kiss him, steal from Draco the words that might undo his entire plan.
How Draco differed from all the others, he mused. It was not the weight of the
name he carried or even his icy good looks that afforded him his status, but
simply the way he carried himself. There was no doubt in his mind that he was
better than those around him, and every time he caught Severus's eye, there was
a glint in the pale eyes that spoke of both arrogance and calm superiority.
Now the calm had gone, but the arrogance was still visible in Draco's gaze. His
movements were slowed by the potion, but he was still highly aware of what he
was doing. His limbs were still gangly from the last vestiges of adolescence,
but there was nothing weak in the arms that hooked around Severus's neck.
Severus had to duck out of the kiss, mindful of the potion that still lingered
on Draco's lips. He pushed Draco's head gently but determinedly to the side. He
would not go along with his plan while Draco was addled out of his mind. No,
that would take all the sport out of it. Severus half led, half dragged Draco
over to the bed, pushing the boy down on the black coverlet.
As Draco's outer cloak billowed open, Severus could see that Draco had his wand
tucked into the waist of his trousers, and he clucked his tongue in
displeasure. Silly boy. They thought it so practical, when all they were doing
was keeping their genitals in constant peril. The wand was honey maple, two
shades darker than the hair of Draco's nape, and it was skin-warm. He parted
the folds of the black winter cloak back, then undid the clasp. Draco barely
stirred, his arm lolling limply over the edge of the bed. Perhaps he overdid it
on the potion, Severus thought, wrapping his hand around Draco's fine-boned
wrist and feeling for a pulse. No, his fear was unfounded. The pulse was rapid
enough to suggest Draco would be lucid. There were a few murmured words as
Draco shifted, scooting further down on the bed.
Half of the drowsiness was an act. When Severus bent down, placing his hands on
both sides of Draco's head, there was a twitch in the long neck, and as he
pressed a kiss to Draco's lightly parted lips, the kiss deepened without
coercion. Clever boy.
Draco's hair, previously so carefully smoothed back, had long since tumbled
into hopeless disarray, flaring out like some inverse ink stain, albino-pale
against the dark coverlet. The school tie slithered over the edge of the bed as
Severus dropped it, and he watched the silver-and-green fabric coil on the
floor. Green and silver, deep mercurial silver accents just like the colour of
Draco's eyes. Shaking an insistent mental image of Lucius's eyes away, Severus
made quick work of the buttons of Draco's white shirt.
Draco was less scrawny than his looks let on. Being constantly flanked by
Crabbe and Goyle, he was thrown into harsher light. He rarely went anywhere
without these two thugs, but Severus knew it went no further than that.
Stubborn and spoiled, perhaps, but Draco was not wholly without taste. Had he
let Crabbe or Goyle closer, there would have been tell-tale marks. Marks that
he, Severus, knew to watch for. Draco's skin was unblemished as of yet,
stretched over lithe muscle like silk wrapping. Pale, just like his infamous
father's skin, with a few birthmarks. One near the hollow of his throat, and
one just over the high arch of his hipbone, near a long line of white scar
tissue.
"Wicked clever plan, Snape," said Draco suddenly, his voice a hoarse drawl. His
eyes were still closed. "Poisoning me. Father'll find out sooner or later."
Severus gave an impatient snort. "You didn't honestly think I would give you
poison, did you? My, that sharp Malfoy mind has grown dull of late."
"You wouldn't dare hurt me," said Draco, his eyes now wide open and an even
paler shade of grey than usual in telltale contrast to the defiance in his
voice.
"But what I'm offering isn't ordinary pain, foolish boy," said Severus, ladling
sugar into his voice. "That, I'm afraid, is all too base for my purposes." He
leaned close, his nose nearly touching Draco's. "And who has said anything
about daring?"
The lassitude that the potion brought weighed heavy in Draco's limbs, slowing
his reluctance to a feeble clenched-finger grasp on Severus's robes. "You don't
play fair," Draco half-accused, his voice lowered by the draught he so
willingly had swallowed.
Of course he didn't. Members of House Slytherin were not known for honesty or
fairness. Salazar had carefully chosen those he knew would not fail him, and it
had been the duty of every head of House Slytherin since to see to that the
pupils learned the subtle and wonderful art of manipulation. "Of course not,"
said Severus, his lips very close to Draco's ear. So close up, he could see the
dilated pupils bleed into the steely grey as though wellsprings had opened in
the boy's eyes. He let his hand slide down the smooth plane of Draco's chest,
feeling the lightest scrape of hair against his palm. He knew the touch would
be almost painful, knew every minute response the drug elicited.
"Who hurt you?" Severus asked under his breath, letting the nail of his index
finger follow the white whiplash. He did not intend to let Draco hear the
question, and he was not interested in the answer. Draco himself wasn't in any
position to answer, and all he did was arch his back lazily upwards, the small
of his back lifting from the dark bedsheets. An arch of desire, a monument to
lust, Severus thought ruefully, half reminiscing the times he had bent his
spine as high. Draco was young, but not younger than Severus was the first time
earth turned sky for him.
Draco's eyes widened as he caught sight of the cane Severus was holding. It had
been a tricky thing indeed to procure it, to make sure that the shady craftsmen
of Knockturn Alley manufactured a copy without asking too many questions.
Galleons by the pile had littered the grimy and pockmarked desks during the
transactions, but that was all forgotten and accounted for. Draco's look more
than made up for it all. Now Severus knew where the serpent-like scar was from.
He should have guessed. Never change a winning concept, wasn't that how the
phrase went? He could just see the gleam in Lucius's cold eyes as he brought
the cane down in a rapid swoop. Hard to tell which one of them got more out of
it.
"You've seen this before, haven't you?" he murmured. "And you've felt it
before."
Draco gave a little whimper low in his throat, and his weak hands rose in
protest, or so Severus thought. Draco proved him wrong. The narrow young hands
only spread the folded fabric wider, baring more skin. His shallow breath made
the long stomach muscles quiver.
Draco would have made a fine sacrifice, oh yes, worthy of the Dark Lord
himself. Severus grasped his own left arm, trying to blot out the Dark Mark
that burned steadily under his skin. This was a sacrifice to himself, a gift on
Severus's own altar. He bent his head, letting his hair fall curtain-like to
cover his face as he tongued a pale pink nipple. Draco tasted of the light, of
the fleeting musk that marked his kin, the scent so light it could be missed.
Severus tried to fight down the need to gorge his fill, but the desire only
rose higher, drowning out all outside noise until all he could hear was the
roar of his own blood in his ears. Draco's hand brushed the top of his head,
but there was no coercion in the touch. Severus lifted his head, eager and
fearful at the same time, and caught Draco's drugged gaze. Grey wellsprings of
darkness, but Severus wished to drown tonight.
Long reaches of cream-pale flesh under his hands as he mapped Draco's body,
muscles wrapped tightly in skin so light it might have been deemed feminine.
Should have been. There was nothing girlish about Draco: he was hard angles and
cutting lines, all ice with no flame.
He was lying to himself about the flame. He knew Draco burned inside, and he
knew that living fire travelled patrilineally. Inherited like any pureblood
trait, but even then it was a rare one, and seemingly one that only manifested
intertwined with arrogance.
Standing up, he tugged open the all-too-restrictive throat fastenings of his
robes. A strange prelude to illicit passion, this, but his hands were steady as
they undid the long row of buttons holding his coat closed. He wasn't proud of
himself, and knew that even in the mercifully wan light of the dungeon his skin
would be pale in the wrong way, all too sallow to be alluring. He never
expected to hold a candle to Draco's looks, and why should he? Shrugging his
shoulders, he let his robe fall, allowing it to pool around his feet like a
snake's shed skin.
He could feel the weight of Draco's gaze, and knew the boy was counting the
paling scars that ran along his sides. The Malfoy mark, Lucius had said,
laughing at the spectacle of Severus's pained twisting. The cane had ripped
Severus's robes, tracing a long red line along his ribs, but Lucius's laughter
had hurt a thousand times more than the strike.
He caught Draco by surprise, leaning in for an ill-aimed kiss, crushing his
lips to Draco's slack mouth. He tasted the poison in Draco's kiss, let it
linger on his palate so much longer than he should, let the bitterness leech
into him until he could feel his mind reel under the influence. Even stakes,
perhaps. Or not at all.
When he set his palms flat on the tops of Draco's pale thighs, the long legs
fell open further in wordless demand. Severus's fingers were very pale against
the blood-flushed flesh, and Draco's face blushed further as he moaned. Young
enough to still be betrayed by his body but well old enough to know how to
elicit pleasure from both himself and others. There was a pleasing flicker of
demand as he grasped Severus's wrist, urging him wordlessly to tighten his
hold.
Stroke and gauge as Severus's fingers slid against the velvet-smooth skin in a
motion as old as time. He leaned over Draco, stealing a deep kiss. He could
taste vestiges of the aconite and reminded himself he had be sparing with the
kisses lest he himself fell under the influence of the potion he so skilfully
had concocted. It was bitter to have to leave the kisses, because it was what
he truly wanted from Draco. Not just the submission of the young and lithe
body, but also the ability to claim the sweet mouth that hid such venom. Like
his father, oh yes, no doubt of that. Draco was a mirror image of the young
Lucius, down to the arrogant mannerisms.
Draco stretched out, unashamed, and Severus ran a hand along his calf. He had
the cane within his hand's reach, and as he saw Draco steal a glance, he
grasped the silver head. Twirling it slowly, he let the snake's head come to
rest lightly on Draco's sternum. There was a definite shadow of tension in
Draco's posture, and he stilled. Shifting his hold, Severus slid the cane
higher up until the snake's head rested under Draco's chin. The sharp silver
teeth bit into the skin of Draco's neck, nearly hard enough to draw blood, and
the sapphire eyes of the snake glinted in the dim light. Draco's pale lips
parted around a silent gasp, and his hands splayed on the dark bedsheets.
"He did this to you, didn't he?" murmured Severus, gratified at the flinch
Draco gave. "Dear daddy Lucius taught you to obey him, all in the shadow of the
cane." He tightened his grip, feeling the slick slide of the ebon wood. The
cane was pleasantly heavy in his hand, and the light glittered off the metal
rivets. "Get up," he commanded, raising the cane so that Draco's head was
forced upward.
Draco obeyed, slowly sitting up, his hands splaying over the covers as he
obviously tried to find his bearings. Severus let the tip of the cane rest on
the edge of the bed, stabbing it at the covers between Draco's legs. The boy
flinched but kept his gaze locked on Severus.
"It was a trade, I imagine," said Severus, drawing the snake's head dagger out
of the sheath the cane formed. "A taste of his blood in exchange for your body.
Slytherin courtship." He gave a mirthless laugh at Draco's surprised
expression. "He must never have told you. It was all his devising, combining
what he loved the most: pain and pleasure. It is nothing if not fitting that I
should continue the tradition."
The blade was so sharp he hardly felt it cut the skin. Not too deep and not too
near the veins, but still the blood flowed easily down his out-stretched arm,
pooling in the palm and finally beading at the fingertips. Draco leaned his
head back, touching his parted lips to Severus's fingers, his tongue arcing
pink to lap up the blood. His cheeks blushed a fetching shade of rose as he
swallowed the blood, as though it heated him and made his skin glow with the
subtle warmth he had leeched from Severus. A greedy, ravenous little spectre,
pale blonde with skin that neared the colourless.
"You know this game, I see, and you should, since pureblood family traditions
as noble as this surely deserve to be continued. How many years now? Two? I am
certain that you remember the first time he raised the cane." Severus stroked
his hand over the curve of Draco's hip. "It made you scream, but those screams
were pleas for more. More pain," he added, "and more pleasure." His nails bit
into Draco's skin as he tightened his hold.
"If you're so sure of what you are saying, then by all means do what you want,
Professor," said Draco, undoing Severus's grip. He did a quick almost-pivot, an
elegant turn away from Severus, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the
bed. His flippant tone was tripped up by the arousal that was thickening his
voice.
"Can you stand what I want, I wonder?"
"What you want is what I want. I want to feel the cane, and I want you to
strike me with it," insisted Draco. He stretched his hands out in front of
himself, the motion fluid and ingrained. The lean muscles flexed as his fingers
clenched.
There was a second of silence as Severus let the words and implication sink in.
An invitation to dominate. What was more, the invitation had been clear - and
the plea explicit. He tightened his hold on the cane, feeling the skin-warmed
wood slide a little under his palm.
The cane arced down, a whining streak of black in the soft lamplight. As it
struck, Draco arched up, his lithe body tensing. His teeth showed in a thin
snarl, and he breathed in long, hissing gasps. The wide red flare across his
buttocks seemed to glow, and the long muscles of Draco's back shifted as he
took a tighter hold of the covers.
"Do you still want more?" Severus asked, his voice low and more hoarse than he
had expected.
"Yes," came the reply, in a voice far from scared or cowed. A voice steeped in
sex and want.
Tightening his hold on the cane, Severus lashed down again, hearing the thin
whisper before the wood struck the skin. Another mark crisscrossed the first,
forming a skewed X. Draco drew another deep breath, but did not move. Giving a
satisfied smile, Severus hit again, relishing in the sound the cane made as it
licked forth another red bruise across the lean thighs. Each hiss from Draco
felt like flames licking over Severus's skin, each electric jolt going through
his body and straight to his cock. He was exorcizing his demons in a way so
full of pleasure it threatened to create a new demon out of itself.
He leaned in, resting the cane over Draco's back. Letting his nails drag down
along Draco's sides, he relished in the sound of Draco's heavy breathing. As he
closed his fingers around Draco's cock, the dense silence of the chamber was
broken by a hissing gasp. Draco's teeth were bared, and his back arched even
higher. His pale hands were fisted hard in his own discarded robes in self-
imposed bondage.
How well he had been trained. Severus needed voice no commands, because Draco
was nothing if not obedient when faced with the cane.
The last blow of the cane only swiped at the skin, much lighter than the
previous ones. Draco still gave a hiss, shifting and scuffling his bare feet on
the floor.
Regarding the deep red welts, Severus bent close, running his tongue over the
heated flesh. Draco twisted, swallowing a moan and arching his back. The self-
control the young man showed was remarkable. Most people would have flinched
away at the first lash if not bound. The only restraints holding Draco in his
place were his hands gripping the sheets.
He mouthed an accio, smiling at the perverseness of using a summoning charm for
something like this, but was nevertheless gratified when the glass vial fell
into his palm. Aloe vera, to soothe and slicken.
He had wanted this far too long; let it simmer away during dark nights, afraid
to even let the memory float on the silver surface of the Pensieve. He kept one
hand over the back of Draco's neck as he let the other slide down the boy's
pale back. It was no restraint, as Draco could have dislodged the hold easily.
He was no longer a little boy, easily overtaken; he was a youth now, teetering
on the brink of adulthood. Almost an equal, Severus thought ruefully, yet only
almost. There was so much Draco Malfoy didn't know.
Dipping his fingers into the cool and thick aloe, Severus laid his other hand
on the small of Draco's back, and nudged the younger man's legs further apart
with his knee. Draco sighed, lifting his head enough to be able to catch
Severus's gaze. The grey eyes darkened further as Severus pushed the first
joint of his finger past the tightly clenched muscle. Adding another slick
finger, Severus scissored the digits and leaned in to press a kiss to the nape
of Draco's neck. Adding a third finger, he licked at Draco's ear. "You're a
tough one, Malfoy, but you've nothing on your father," he murmured, half to
himself, nipping at the fine skin.
Draco bent his head, drawing a deep breath. As Severus began working his
fingers, Draco gave voice to a stuttering moan, pushing back. Strands of
platinum-pale hair slid into his face, sticking to the sweat-sheened forehead.
Severus closed his eyes briefly at the feel of Draco rubbing up against him,
forcing the arousal back a step. He couldn't afford to lose control now.
"You should see yourself," he murmured into Draco's ear, using his free hand to
tip Draco's head up. "See what I'm doing to you. See how aroused you are."
A blush, either from lust or shame, blossomed on Draco's face, but he looked
back over his shoulder, his pale grey gaze meeting Severus's near-black eyes.
"Lucius doesn't give you what you need, does he?"
Draco leaned his head back, resting a flushed cheek against Severus's shoulder.
"He doesn't give me this," he said, his voice low and soft but not slurred.
There was no resignation in the voice, either, Severus noted.
"And so you fall into my arms?" Severus insisted, sliding his hands up Draco's
sides. "I should tell him what you are doing. Tell him that you're writhing in
my arms, naked and wanton. That you've willingly tasted my blood."
Draco struggled half-heartedly in Severus's grip, turning and trying to get out
of the strong hold, but found himself pinned under Severus. "That means
nothing," he protested.
Severus merely smiled, splaying his hand over Draco's throat. "Ah, but it does.
It means you submit. You're mine," he said. "I thought your dear father would
have tutored you better when it came to the rules of this particular game."
The blood on Draco's lips was still wet, an obscenely vibrant red that cut
against Draco's pale skin. The wound on Severus's arm was still open, and he
could feel a narrow line of wetness slide down unmarked skin as he moved his
arm too quickly. A solitary drop spattered over Draco's chest, spidering like a
star. As Draco's fingers, his blunt-sharp nails, dug into the wound, Severus
gave a hiss.
He grasped Draco's ankle, hooking the long leg over his shoulder. Leaning
forward, he forced Draco's legs further apart, stopping mid-movement to merely
watch the young man splayed out under him. Draco Malfoy, flung back over
Severus's bed down in the dungeons, Draco Malfoy far from the haughty spirit he
showed during the day. Now, he was reduced to a quivering, begging, writhing
mass of desirous male, and each gasp that he uttered pleased Severus more than
he cared to admit to himself. Severus let his hands rest on Draco's thighs,
using his grip for leverage as Draco began to buck his hips. Every stuttered
moan was a plea for more.
Slick as snakes and thick as thieves, the two of them, and Draco's metal-grey
eyes rolled back in his head as Severus thrust in deep. The mass of candles
around them blurred into a wall of dull flame, and he dug his nails into the
tender skin over Draco's hipbones. The philtre was addling him despite his
efforts to be careful. Draco would be marked now, sport blood-red moon
crescents on his pale flesh. Blood-heat under the skin, and Severus felt like a
statue made of flame. His heart was knocking at his ribs so hard it felt like
his chest might shatter.
There was too little oxygen left in the air of the chamber, and he panted like
he was drowning. Such base noises, like he was a simple Mudblood without any
sense of decorum.
The soft nonsensical sounds Draco made could have been mistaken for
Parseltongue, and it so suited him. What else would be appropriate for a
Slytherin? Severus recognized his own name in the stream of words, heard the
sibilants that burned his skin like coals. Every sound and moan from Draco was
a personal victory, and the sheer rush of power as Draco bucked into his hold
was going to his head like a violent spirit. He tightened the hold. Draco
twisted further, his hands scrabbling to find purchase in the snarl of fabric
that the bedspread had become. Severus bent his head to lick at the thin sheen
of sweat that slicked Draco's lean chest, and couldn't resist the temptation to
plant a bite on Draco's shoulder. This time, the boy actually swore out loud,
but pushed back against Severus in a movement so hard and abrupt Severus nearly
stumbled.
Draco's s eyes were half-closed, and a slow smile bloomed on his flushed face.
Severus let himself be led for a few precious seconds, his hands closing around
the high arches of Draco's hipbones. This was revenge at its coldest and
sweetest.
Draco was strung taut under him, frozen in the stasis of lust, his long lean
back a hard curve in the wan light. Slick-heated flesh against Severus's own,
joined not entirely comfortably but searingly intently. Perfection in movement
had to be abandoned, for they were both clumsy and blinded. The potion was
taking its toll on Severus now, if only as a whisper in his veins. Aconite to
make the blood sing in his ears, belladonna to make him lose his sight,
jimsonweed to addle him and mandrake to make his mind howl. Light and dark, and
he was as always the shadow stealing the living light. His lot in life, but he
went with it willingly, because he knew the flames would burn their brightest
before they faded to embers. Draco would burn so fiercely he would be left a
pillar of ash.
Draco said nothing, only feebly mouthed breathless words that surely would have
been meaningless even if voiced. There was a sharp and high hiss of a word as
he climaxed, something that might have been a curse as well as a name.
The fall into the abyss seemed endless, and Severus would have sworn he saw
stars rushing past his eyes. He froze, his lungs straining to draw in enough
oxygen from the sparse air of the dungeon. He might have been drowning in the
air for all he knew, and his spine was alive with something so close to pain.
Draco was panting under him, his lithe body shivering now that the murderous
tension was gone. Severus slumped forward, steadying himself with one hand. His
knees slid on the sheets, and his skin slid against Draco's, slick with blood
and sweat and semen. A philtre of its own, that, one born from dark and
dizzying heat.
The snake's-head dagger glimmered as it rocked into the light, and he could see
the bright silver curve of it was flecked with dark dried blood. His blood. The
same blood that ran in crusted trails down his inner arm, the same blood whose
iron-copper taste he could feel as he pressed a kiss to Draco's parted lips.
 
Night had fallen outside his dungeon windows, cauldron-black and impenetrable.
The halls of the castle would be even darker, maws of shadows to scare even the
most bold. However, it would also provide so convenient a cloak under the
protection of which Draco could return to the Slytherin dormitories. For back
he would go, even if he hobbled and stumbled under the joint influence of the
philtre and the caning. Oh yes, Malfoy, he thought, the potion will burn in
your blood yet. Bring that flame back to your father as a token of my fondest
regards.
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