Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7860586.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Lucius_Malfoy/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Severus_Snape, Lucius_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Drama, BDSM
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2003-05-16 Words: 4002
****** Heart Full of Poison ******
by lewisifer [archived by ISF_Archivist]
Summary
     After longing for Lucius Malfoy for years, Severus Snape finally
     meets the older student, and gets what he has wished for.
Notes
     This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was
     created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve
     the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an
     Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors
     about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached
     everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact
     me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection
     profile.
Heart Full of Poison




  He could have been made from moonlight, a radiant being of palest gold and
  silver, so brilliant it blinded the eyes. Even at seventeen, when most of
  them were still awkward and gangly and spotty, he was graceful, stunningly
  handsome, his clear skin kissed by pale candlelight, his long hair a silvery
  blond, the jewels of his deep gray eyes just shimmered ever so slightly with
  aquamarine blue. Severus had been in love with him, or at least in lust with
  him, from the moment he'd seen him, four years ago, when Lucius had been a
  third-year sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.
  He'd only been a kid then -- well, he was still a kid, he supposed, but he
  felt older by far, old with the bitterness of age. Four years ago.... what a
  great deal could happen in three years, especially if you stayed at school
  over the holidays, especially if you longed from afar for Lucius Malfoy. Just
  eleven years old then, he'd been nervous, he had to admit, and homesick even
  on that first day. They had crossed the water in boats, gone up together into
  the Great Hall, and even though he was from an old Wizarding family, even
  though the name of Snape was nearly as illustrious as that of Malfoy, he'd
  really known no one.
  It had always been that way for him, being kept away from others, being an
  embarrassment, really, to his family. His mother and father were good-looking
  people, regal almost in their bearing, and he, their sniveling, greasy,
  sallow-skinned little boy, given to strange lusts and stranger interests, had
  been an embarrassment. "Sicko Sev," the servants had called him behind his
  back; even the house elf had dared to mock him.
  And then, the terror of the Sorting Hat.... It smelled old and musty, perched
  there atop his head, a living thing although inanimate. Horrifying. He'd
  looked out over the Great Hall, embarrassed by himself, feeling inadequate,
  as the Hat had spoken in his ear, and he'd wished that it could not see what
  was in his mind, that it could not look into his very soul and strip him raw.
  At the Slytherin table, under the green and silver banners with their
  coiling, sinister serpent, Lucius Malfoy had sat, aristocratic even then, so
  alluring that it was painful to look at him.
  What must it be like to touch him, Severus wondered, to be touched by him, to
  feel the caress of those graceful hands? He had heard of him, of course;
  everyone had. The beautiful scion of the Malfoy family was famous -- infamous
  -- his physical form a thing of wonder, so pure, so clean, so golden, but his
  mind and his heart full of poison, sinister and cold and unknowable. Severus
  had to admit it, he was drawn to this evil, to this stunning contrast of
  purity and depravity, to power. Disgusted with himself, still he longed to be
  taken by someone like that, to be mastered, to be consumed, to be ravished.
  He'd felt himself beginning to blush then, felt himself growing hard beneath
  his robes. Did the Hat snicker at him softly? Perhaps it was only his
  imagination.... "You'd do well in Ravenclaw," it was saying, "with your mind.
  But the Dark Arts, eh, boy? That's your fancy, is it?"
  "Put me in Slytherin," he'd thought, shocked at his own boldness. "Put you in
  Slytherin? There's a thought. Unwholesome little sodomite, aren't you?" The
  Sorting Hat had laughed then, making Severus feel small and dirty and sick.
  "Yes," he'd thought again, "but I don't care. Put me in Slytherin." Such a
  lot could happen in three years.... At first, he'd kept himself to himself,
  not content to worship Malfoy from afar but too shy and selfdeprecating to
  approach him. He'd sneered at him, actually, had used his cold, ugly,
  sarcastic wit as a defense against his shameful feelings. What did Lucius
  Malfoy care that this ugly little boy cast alternately longing and scornful
  glances at him, that he seemed to shadow him everywhere?
  Never good at games, too bookish by far for most of the other Slytherins,
  friendless, shy, and ill at ease with himself, he'd spent long days in the
  confines of his curtained bed, magicking his record player into playing the
  horrible Muggle music that so embarrassed his parents -- the Sex Pistols, and
  the Rolling Stones, others that he would hope now to forget about forever. He
  didn't know what was "cool" in the Muggle world -- or even in the Wizarding
  world, for that matter. A freak and a loser, that's what he'd thought
  himself, even as he excelled at his studies, even as he honed, in private,
  his knowledge of the Dark Arts and indulged his interest in Muggle
  literature.
  On the Quidditch field, when he bothered to go, he had eyes only for Lucius
  Malfoy, so swift and skillful on his expensive broom, soaring dizzyingly high
  in the cool spring air. Lucius was so graceful, with his long hair of
  silvered-blond streaming back behind him or tied at the nape of his neck with
  a crisp black ribbon, like the hair of an archaic highwayman. He played up on
  this image of himself, wearing the tight black britches of another era, the
  high black silver-buckled boots, loose shirts in cream or black with a little
  cascade of lace at the sleeves, sometimes even a lace cravat, pinned with a
  silver serpent. While some of the students wore jeans and T-shirts or
  sweaters beneath their robes, Lucius Malfoy scorned all the conventions of
  the Muggle world, as though he relished the freedom that his heritage allowed
  him.
  Severus watched him, longing for him, his breath coming out in short, painful
  gasps. It was all he could do, at times, not to touch himself surreptitiously
  beneath his robes. He hoped no one noticed, but he was certain they did.
  Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy's hulking, unintelligent minions, often snickered at
  him and whispered obscenely to each other, their pudgy hands making filthy
  gestures, their piggy little eyes glinting evilly.
  The Gryffindors were worse by far, because he was an outsider to them and
  they did not even owe him the loyalty of a House allegiance. Potter, with his
  arrogant bearing and his unruly hair, the dangerously sensual Lupin, Sirius
  Black with his darkly Black Irish allure, even the sneaky little Peter
  Pettigrew who should, by rights, perhaps have been a Slytherin.... The
  Marauders. That's what they'd called themselves, with their stupid map and
  Potter's disgusting invisibility cloak. Marauding was just the perfect name
  for what they did....
  They'd found him, alone in the boy's bathroom, thinking himself unnoticed.
  That damned map of theirs had led them, and they'd burst in on him, his cock
  in his hand, panting and sweating disgustingly, pleasuring himself to the
  image of Lucius Malfoy's sneering countenance. He had a photograph of him,
  snapped surreptitiously as Malfoy came down one of the long staircases, and
  in the photograph Lucius was forever descending those stairs, the essence of
  him captured there, his swagger, his smiling sneer.... So beautiful, so
  powerful, the mastery of him irresistible....
  Potter had grabbed the photograph from his trembling hand and, as he'd
  fumbled to cover himself, to hide his shame, had said, "Good lord, Snape,
  isn't this a surprise?"
  "Not really," Lupin had laughed. "We always knew what sort he was, didn't
  we?"
  They'd surrounded him then, laughing, those proud Gryffindors who were
  supposed to be so noble. Not noble now, they weren't, not with their mocking
  laughter, their glee at his shame. He'd snatched the photograph from Potter's
  hand, the edge of it tearing away, and he'd hated them then more than he'd
  hated anyone in his life. "Fuck you," he'd snarled, his thin lips curling to
  reveal one yellowed eye-tooth; he hated his teeth, so ugly, like the teeth of
  an animal, but it wasn't for lack of hygiene. "Bad enamel," his mother had
  said ruefully; whatever it was, it was embarrassing, humiliating enough that
  he rarely dared to smile, as humiliating as his greasy hair which no amount
  of washing seemed to help.
  "Fuck us?" asked Pettigrew suggestively. "So, that's what you want, is it?"
  He'd burst free of them then, running, clutching the photograph, fleeing down
  the long stone corridors to the dormitory in the depths of Hogwarts, to his
  curtained bed where he could curl himself up and lie still, where he could be
  safe. He remembered it now, lying there alone and sobbing, pulling his black
  robes tight around himself, as if to protect him. A cold autumn day, the
  stormclouds in the sky making late afternoon feel like evening, the fire
  unlit, the room deserted. He'd clutched the photograph and wept, ashamed of
  himself and filled with a burning hatred, a fiery contempt for everyone and
  everything.
  And then, in that moment that had changed his life forever, that had led him
  down a path that did not now bear thinking of, he'd heard a soft voice above
  him, felt the weight of a body pressing down on the mattress beside him.
  "What is it, Sev? Why are you crying?"
  Lucius Malfoy, holding a candle in the gloom of the curtained bed, the light
  illuminating his pale face, his golden hair, his gray and piercing eyes.
  Severus had looked up, brushed a strand of raven-black hair back from his
  sore, reddened eyes, from his sallow forehead damp with sweat and his cheeks
  damp with tears. "It's nothing," he'd said. "It's nothing. Leave me alone."
  He hadn't wanted to say that, but the words, with his characteristic
  defensiveness, had come from his lips unbidden.
  Lucius had only smiled down at him, a gentle smile almost masking the
  coldness of his gaze. He'd reached out one long, graceful hand and taken the
  photograph, looked at it for a moment, watching his own moving image, and
  then had set it aside without a word. "Do you really want me to go?" he'd
  asked, his words a caress in the candlelit darkness.
  Severus had said nothing, had looked away from him, not wanting to answer.
  "I will, if that's what you really want. But I think maybe you'd rather I
  stayed. Wouldn't you, Sev?"
  He hated that nickname, that too-familiar shortening of his name. Uneasily,
  he thought that maybe Malfoy knew this, that he was teasing him. "What do you
  want from me?" he'd asked defensively, aware of the whine in his voice, the
  sickening quality of weakness. He'd sat up then, suddenly not wanting to be
  lying there, to be vulnerable.
  Lucius Malfoy had reached out, with one finger gently pushing Severus's black
  hair back away from his face, and his hand had lingered there, trailing
  sensuously down the side of his cheek, fingertips brushing his neck, running
  down the vein to the little hollow at the bottom of his throat. The sensation
  had been delightful, for a moment making Severus forget his humiliation and
  his anger, making him forget everything, in fact, but the feeling of the cool
  fingertips against his heated flesh, the little prickling of nerves
  responding to another's touch. Malfoy had pushed suddenly, one finger digging
  painfully into the hollow of his throat, making Severus cough.
  "What the fuck are you doing?" He'd leapt back from him, suddenly afraid, the
  pain in his throat making him gasp.
  Lucius Malfoy had laughed then, a clear, boyish laugh just tainted slightly
  with cruelty. "I'm sorry," he'd said, the words sounding insincere, but so
  wonderful to Severus's ears -- Malfoy never apologized, not for anything, not
  even if he were wrong, and never to someone like Severus Snape.... "Sometimes
  I just can't help myself," Lucius had said, and the look of contrition on his
  face, whether false or not, was gratifying, was comforting. He had reached
  out again, and Severus had wanted to flinch away, but instead he had remained
 still, letting the hand touch his face, cradle his cheek.
  "Don't," he'd said, his voice pleading, but he could not tell really if he
  was pleading for him to stop or pleading for him to go on.
  "Don't?" Lucius had looked at him, his voice barely a whisper, his smile full
  of gentle mockery. He had started to take his hand away, but Severus,
  suddenly decisive, had reached up and caught hold of his wrist.
  "I thought you wanted me to stop," Lucius had said.
  "No." Severus had kept hold of him then, pulling his hand back pleadingly.
  "Make up your mind, then," Malfoy had snapped. He had pulled away, sat back
  in the bed, looking at him coldly. "Do you want me to, or don't you?"
  He was going to make him say it; it was his way, Severus supposed, to
  humiliate, to gain power over others. He wouldn't do it. He had his pride.
  For a moment, Lucius Malfoy had looked at him, appraising, and Severus had
  felt himself weakening. Lucius had let out a sniff of disgust then, had
  started to rise from the bed. "I'll go then," he'd said haughtily.
  "No. No, please...." The words had been painful to utter, wrenching his
  heart, making him feel like nothing. "I don't want you to go," he'd said.
  "Then why did you tell me not to touch you?" Lucius had asked, unappeased.
  "I'm sorry," Severus had said.
  It was over now, he knew; there was no turning back. "I didn't mean that. I
  was just -- I was just afraid." He'd hated how weak he sounded, hated to beg,
  but Lucius was looking at him again, studying him with cold satisfaction.
  "Do you want me to stay then?" he'd asked, his tone imperious. Severus had
  nodded.
  "Say it. Tell me you want me to stay."
  "Yes," Severus had said. "I want you to stay." He'd reached out then,
  tentative, pleading, had touched Malfoy's long, graceful hand, had brought it
  tremblingly up to his lips, kissing the fingertips, running his tongue
  longingly across the cool flesh, yearning for Malfoy's touch.
  "You'll have to do what I tell you," Lucius had said. "Everything I tell you.
  Do you understand?"
  Severus nodded.
  "Say it, then."
  "I understand."
  Lucius Malfoy had taken his hand from Severus's grasp then, moving it to the
  back of his neck, his strong grip pulling him forward. Like a rabbit seized
  by a hawk ascending, Severus had wanted for a moment to pull away, panicking,
  afraid, but Lucius had pulled him savagely forward, their lips meeting in a
  kiss. Lucius had tasted of vanilla and smoke; he'd had a passion in those
  days for exotic Muggle cigarettes, for liqueurs. His lips were cool and hard,
  as cool and hard as his heart, and it was like kissing a statue come to life,
  troubling and strangely exhilarating.
  He was brutally sensuous, his hand at the back of Severus's neck gripping him
  with an adamant passion, his tongue thrusting inward, searching, teeth
  grazing and then biting, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to
  bring pain. Severus fumbled then, inexpert, yearning, his hands running over
  Malfoy's shoulders, his strong back, his passion mounting along with his
  fear. He felt himself being pulled to his feet, and then they were standing
  face to face, lips still locked together, Malfoy's other hand reaching down
  to rest against the small of his back, pulling him forward, trapping him
  against his strong body, and he felt Malfoy's hardness against his own. His
  head bent back now, Severus could not have escaped if he had wanted to -- and
  a part of himself wanted to more than anything.
  The hand at the back of his neck grasped his long hair painfully, wrenching
  his head back, exposing his throat, and then Lucius had his mouth there,
  biting into the side of his neck with enough pressure to illicit a cry of
  pain, a cry of panic. He bit down, but his mouth caressed, his hand moved
  down to the cleft of Severus's ass and pulled him forward more insistently.
  Severus feared suddenly that the sharp white teeth at his neck would break
  the skin, that Lucius, suddenly vampiric, would draw the lifeblood from his
  veins. But what an exhilarating way to die this would be, to die in this hard
  embrace, taken completely, helpless and willing and longing for whatever
  Malfoy did to him....
  Suddenly, the hand grasping his hair pulled him back off balance, and he
  nearly fell, but Lucius caught him by the shoulder, pushing him down, pushing
  him to his knees on the cold stone floor. Wordlessly, he took his hand from
  Severus's shoulder, reached down to open his own robes, pulled Severus's head
  forward so that his face was pressed against the hardness of his member.
  Blindly, driven only now by lust, caring no longer what anyone might think of
  him, not caring for anything but his own desire and the desire of the one who
  had mastered him, Severus opened Malfoy's fly with his teeth, reached up to
  free his cock, grasping the hard length of it desperately.
  He licked upwards along the underside of the shaft, the flesh there warm and
  pure and silky smooth, in his mouth still the taste of smoke and vanilla, his
  heart pounding so loudly in his own ears that he could hear nothing but his
  own heartbeat. His tongue reached out to tease the head of Malfoy's cock, and
  then he felt himself being pulled forward to take it in his mouth. He
  flinched away at the alien sensation of it entering between his lips, felt
  Malfoy's grip on his hair tighten even more painfully, demandingly, and he
  gasped.
  "Please," he said, managing to turn his face just slightly away, "I don't
  know how...."
  He heard Lucius laugh then, a cold, mocking laugh registering just the
  smallest hint of tenderness, and it was that tenderness that forced Severus
  to be still, forced him not to leap to his feet, struggling to be free.
  "Just take it in your mouth and suck," Malfoy said, and Severus could hear
  the sneer in his voice, and the arrogant tone of command. "Don't be such a
  baby."
  "I've never done this before," said Severus weakly.
  "All the more reason to do it now," Lucius said. "You can't deny that you
  want me, that you've always wanted me, can you?"
  Severus said nothing, feeling his cheeks burning with shame.
  "Can you?" Malfoy snarled, jerking Severus's head back cruelly, forcing him
  to look up. Lucius Malfoy's beauty was blinding, his power overwhelming, and
  Severus could hardly bear to see him, could not believe that Lucius, this
  angel of light, this otherworldly being of unfathomable beauty, would deign
  to allow himself to be touched by someone as low, as degraded, as Severus
  Snape. He felt grateful, even for the pain, grateful for Lucius Malfoy's
  touch, although it was brutal, debasing him; he hated that he could feel this
  way, hated himself for it, but he could not help what was in his heart.
  "No, I can't deny it," Severus said, his voice barely a whisper.
  "Then do what you were put here to do," said Malfoy softly. "Don't worry.
  I'll be gentle." He laughed again then, laughed at Severus and, perhaps, at
  himself.
  Malfoy eased his grip just a bit then, and Severus, defeated, yearning for
  him, thankful even for this humiliation, lowered his head once more and
  tentatively took the tip of the steel-hard cock between his lips. He nearly
  flinched away again at the strange sensation of it, the head of the hard
  member almost filling his mouth, but instinctively he forced himself to
  relax, to form his lips around the hardness, to use his tongue to caress.
  Gratifyingly, he felt Lucius Malfoy shudder. Nothing else mattered then,
  nothing but sensation, nothing but lust. Malfoy thrust forward, the hand on
  the back of Severus's neck still grasping his hair painfully. When the head
  of his cock touched the back of Severus's throat, he felt momentarily sick,
  gagging convulsively, but Lucius placed his other hand on the top of his
  head, let it linger down his brow, brushing his dark, lank hair back,
  soothing him, keeping him still until he could get used to the sensation.
  "Look at me," Lucius said softly, his voice thick with lust. "I want to see
  your eyes when I fuck your mouth, Severus."
  Severus did as he was told, felt suddenly the tears that he hoped not to
  shed, but he did not know if they were tears of joy, or of despair. Lucius
  Malfoy smiled down at him, a cruel yet strangely caressing smile, the smile
  of a master for a dog whose cringing obedience both disgusts and gratifies
  him. And then he was stabbing into his mouth, fucking his throat, nearly
  making him panic again, but Severus forced himself to concentrate, to bend
  himself to the other's will, to do what Lucius wanted. He felt the member
  stiffen further between his lips, as though cruelty and mastery excited him
  almost beyond bearing, and Lucius Malfoy let out a small moan of pleasure.
  Severus was dimly and humiliatingly aware that he himself had been moaning
  and whimpering with lust, debasing himself in his desire, but none of that
  mattered now, somehow, feeling the cock in his mouth stiffening and throbbing
  before the final release.... And then, he was pulled forward more brutally
  and with more urgency than before, and he felt the hot rush of salty liquid
  in his throat, nearly choking him, as Lucius Malfoy came with a second and
  final moan of pleasure.
  Malfoy pulled him back then, away from himself, and Severus looked up at him
  still, embarrassed but feeling his own member throbbing painfully, longing
  for release. He swallowed, tasting the unpleasant saltiness of the other's
  cum, almost relishing the taste of it even as it sickened him. Lucius was
  looking down at him, smiling that cold, haughty smile, and Severus knew in
  that moment that he was changed forever, that his destiny now was linked,
  inexplicably and frighteningly, to the destiny of Lucius Malfoy.
  "I think I shouldn't have ignored you for all this time," said Malfoy
  mockingly. He reached down to touch Severus's cheek, one finger sliding under
  his chin to bring his head up. "You're much better at that than Crabbe or
  Goyle, not nearly as clumsy. I think sucking my cock must come naturally to
  you." With his other hand, releasing his grip on Severus's hair, he brushed
  the tears from his face almost tenderly.
  Severus shuddered at the thought of either of those hulking boys even
  touching someone like Lucius Malfoy, but somehow the perversity of it was
  thrilling to him. He nuzzled Malfoy's hand, letting his lips linger on the
  palm, on the long fingers. He wanted Lucius to touch him, to touch his own
  still-hard member, to make love to him, but Malfoy pulled his hands away,
  straightened his clothing, pulled his robes around himself with a flourish.
  "Get up, Sev," he said dismissively. "I think you've had enough for one day."
  Severus rose, embarrassed, knowing that Lucius was trying now to humiliate
  him but not really knowing why. "I -- I'm still --"
  Lucius reached out and laid one finger against Severus's lips, silencing him.
  "No talking," he said softly. "I have to go. We're late for dinner already."
  "Should I come with you?" Severus asked.
  "No. I'll see you there. I don't think it would be a good idea for us to be
  seen going down there together. Do you?"
  Severus didn't say anything. He wanted Lucius to stay with him, to embrace
  him, to be kind.
  "Maybe I'll see you again later," Malfoy said, giving him a small, ironic
  smile. He bent down, kissed Severus fleetingly on his burning forehead, laid
  one hand momentarily on the hardness of his aching cock, squeezing slightly,
  then turned and strode out into the hall, the heavy door banging shut behind
  him....
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