Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7860589.
  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:
      Drama, BDSM
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2003-05-18 Words: 2997
****** Moon in Scorpio ******
by lewisifer [archived by ISF_Archivist]
Summary
     After his initial encounter with Severus, Lucius Malfoy can’t stop
     thinking about what he’d like to do to him.
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.
     Author's notes: If you like or dislike this story, would you please
     kindly send me feedback. Any comments would be most appreciated.
     Thank you.
Moon in Scorpio




  Perhaps it had begun with his boredom. That had always been a good way to
  rationalize things -- as if he needed to rationalize. Or perhaps it had been
  the way the boy had looked at him. He liked that look, the defensiveness in
  the dark eyes, the hurt, the longing. He liked also the way the boy's thin
  lips curved into a sneer, nostrils flaring, eyes flashing anger beneath long
  black lashes. He had to admit, it excited him, aroused him even.
  But he had been bored. He had to face that. Hogwarts was such an uneventful
  place, really, for someone like him, with his propensities. At home, at
  least, there were his father's lovely things to play with, the Dark Objects
  locked away in the dungeons, the house elves to torment and abuse, places to
  go shopping. Well, that was almost embarrassing, that he loved to shop, but
  he'd long ago ceased to care if others thought him effeminate. His ability to
  be languid -- almost campy, at times -- had grown to be a part of his charm.
  Of course, he could get away with it now, as a boy, but in later years it
  would have to be given up. Things that may suit a schoolboy would be
  inappropriate for a man, and especially for such a man as he planned to
  become.
  The boredom, though, the almost unbearable ennui, had been putting him into a
  black and foul mood, and he'd found himself becoming hateful. Crabbe and
  Goyle had, as ever, been accommodating, but being serviced by the likes of
  them could only go so far. It had been funny, at first, seeing their clumsy
  efforts, but that had quickly passed as their ministrations became routine.
  He remembered that first time, though, and it never failed to bring a smirk
  to his lips. Crabbe -- or was it Goyle? Well, no matter. One of them, anyway,
  had been sitting with him in the dormitory, attempting to do homework, his
  face screwed up with concentration as his feeble intellect struggled towards
  understanding. Lucius had been smoking, although the Muggle cigarettes were
  strictly forbidden, and he had watched the boy with amusement, thinking what
  it would be like to --
  "I say, Crabbe...." he had drawled lazily.
  "Mm-hmm," the boy had muttered, looking up, bewildered.
  "Don't say 'mm-hmm,'" he'd spat. "Say 'yes.'" He liked, at times, to play the
  pedant with them, the strict teacher.
  "Oh, yeah. Sorry. Yes."
  "I was thinking that I'd like to have my cock sucked," he'd said
  nonchalantly, letting his eyes half close in a languidly seductive manner,
  the cigarette smoke curling out from his nostrils.
  "Oh, that would be great, yeah," the other boy had said. "That Williams girl
  is hot as hell. I'd like some of --"
  "Yes, yes," he'd snapped. "But I was thinking more along the lines of getting
  my cock sucked by you."
  It made him laugh now to think about it. He lay back among the cushions of
  his bed, nestling closer into the goose-down comforter covered in black
  velvet, feeling the smoothness of it against his naked skin. It made him
  laugh, but it did not arouse him. He felt jaded.
  He thought then of Severus, and he let his right hand linger caressingly
  across the smoothness of his chest and sighed. Severus.... It was not that he
  was handsome; he was anything but that. His face reminded Lucius of the faces
  of saints in ancient Muggle religious icons -- such a thin, sallow face, but
  strangely refined, strangely alluring, the large nose beneath those luminous
  dark eyes, the thin lips tightly closed, as though to lock in words that he
  longed to utter. It was a face created to register suffering, to register
  resentment and hurt and pain. And Lucius Malfoy knew how to cause such
  emotions; it came to him as easily as breathing.
  He liked to think of Severus as one of those alien saints. The paintings of
  them thrilled him almost shamefully, even though they had been created by
  ignorant Muggles and were merely solid, unmoving things, static images. There
  was something of beauty in them, however, and of violence and despair. It was
  pleasing, on the whole, to see St. Sebastian shot through with arrows, saints
  crucified, the ubiquitous and somehow almost touching image of the Muggles'
  martyred God.
  Lucius could imagine Severus like that, chained perhaps in the Malfoy
  dungeons, his spirit broken, his body bruised and pierced, and on his face,
  in his dark eyes a look of -- what? Lucius realized it in that moment, seeing
  in his mind's eye that delicious image; he wanted to see gratitude, to see
  love, reflected in those eyes.
  He had gotten a glimpse of it, just two nights ago, when Severus had knelt
  before him, when Lucius had commanded him to look up, when he had pinned him
  there with his cock impaling his throat, Severus helpless on his knees,
  overwhelmed with lust, those mindless sounds issuing forth from deep within
  him. How pleasing it had been -- how more than pleasing -- how gratifying and
  invigorating and wonderful, to see then the tears come into his eyes and brim
  over the edge of his long, dark lashes. That had been too much for him,
  making him climax as he had never done before, with such force and energy,
  with such abandon. It had almost frightened him that another could make him
  feel that way.
  Lucius wished now that he had spoken to Severus earlier in the day, that he
  had instructed him to come to his bed that night. He would not have refused.
  How could he refuse, when commanded so by Lucius Malfoy? He remembered
  Severus's look of pleading, of almost unbearable longing. He'd wanted more.
  Lucius could have fucked him for hours, could have defiled every orifice,
  could have devoured his still-beating heart, drunk the blood from his veins,
  sodomized his very soul. But such pleasures were not to be wasted, were not
  to be squandered. A prize such as Severus was meant to be savored, taken in
  small doses as a powerful drug is taken, lingered over, caressed, slowly and
  languorously and deliciously conquered and destroyed.
  It was not that he was completely devoid of human feeling. Not at all. He was
  gentle, in his own way, and caring. At least, he thought that he could be
  those things, if the moment were right, if he allowed himself to be. His moon
  was in Scorpio, after all, and that was a sign of passion, of emotions deeply
  felt. True, it was also a sign of death, of sex and transformation, of power
  and cruelty, but such matters, for Lucius, were not in conflict with his
  feelings of desire, with his feelings of tenderness, if it could be termed
  that.
  He stroked himself as he sometimes liked to do, lazily, lingeringly, letting
  his hand just brush the head of his cock, fingertips grazing over his balls,
  over the shaft iron-hard and engorged. Severus's warm, soft tongue would have
  been so much better, but he had no one but himself to blame for the boy's
  absence. He imagined then what it would be like to have him there in the bed
  with him, to have him there on his hands and knees, naked, exposed,
  vulnerable. Lucius had been thrilled by the feeling of his own hand clutching
  the boy's hair, causing him pain. True, his hair was greasy, but it was dark
  and soft and redolent with the scent of spices; it must be the shampoo he
  used that made it smell that way. Severus was an obsessive bather, after all,
  and surely it was just bad genetics that made his hair so greasy.... Well, it
  didn't matter. It didn't matter at all, as long as Severus would look at him
  with that wounded look of longing.
  What would it be like to enter him, to cause him that alien and unnatural
  pain? Lucius felt his cock throb beneath his touch. Would he cry out and beg
  for mercy, or would he bite his lip and be silent, muffling his cries in the
  pillow? The possibilities were endless, troublingly arousing, distressingly
  and almost unbearably erotic to him. Lucius would not hold back, he knew; it
  was not in his nature to hold back. He would hurt him, and he would enjoy the
  other's pain. Lucius wanted to make him feel it, to make him know who
  violated him, to make it an experience that he would remember always, that
  would shame him....
  But then, when it was over, what would it be like to take Severus in his
  arms, to kiss away his tears, to soothe him, to comfort him? How crueler
  still that would be, causing his victim yet to love him. And yet -- it would
  not be insincere, that tenderness, that tender contempt. It would be what he
 felt, he was sure, not disgust but disgust mingled with something perhaps
  akin to love.
  He grasped himself, suddenly unable to hold back any longer, stroking himself
  in long, hard pulses, feeling his whole body tense with lust. And then, at
  the moment of climax, his loins thrusting, his body jerking as though with
  pain, he saw the image of Severus looking up at him, tears dampening his thin
  cheeks, his eyes filled with longing and shame and lust, and he heard
  himself, almost not believing that he said it, whispering the words that came
  to him unbidden: "Severus... Severus... my angel... my whore...."
  Even as he climaxed, even as he felt the abandon of it, the loss of control,
  he experienced another sensation, a feeling of being soiled, of revulsion. He
  hated that he had uttered those foolish words, even to himself, even in his
  mind - - worse that he had whispered them aloud, that those who lay in their
  beds around him, if they lay sleepless also, may have heard him. If Severus
  had been there with him, as he had wished, he would have struck him. He would
  have made him pay, would have made him suffer, for causing him, a Malfoy and
  his superior in all ways, to debase himself, to give in to lust and yearning,
  to expose his own needs in so raw, so visceral a manner.
  But then -- that would be gratifying as well, that would be nearly as
  heartwrenchingly poignant, to strike him across the face, to see the hurt in
  his eyes, perhaps a flaring of anger. Would there be blood? He imagined a
  thin trickle of it, from mouth or nose, the redness against the paleness of
  flesh, the red of blood and the white of flesh and the deep black of that
  long, soft hair.... No. He would have to accept it; he needed Severus as he
  had never needed anything. And he resented that he would need.
  Was this what love was, he wondered. Was this yearning to injure, to
  humiliate, to caress, to dominate, what love was? It was not only those
  things that he felt, though. He felt more, and those other feelings were more
  troubling by far. He had wanted to harm others before, ever since he could
  remember, had wanted power over them, but he had not felt this alien
  tenderness, this strange craving for the affections of another. He had wanted
  to inspire respect, to inspire fear, but those things were only a part now of
  what he felt. He didn't like feeling desire; desire makes one weak.
  But he could not help himself.
  Carefully, quietly, he rose from his bed, pulling his robe over his
  nakedness. It was silky, dusky dark, a deep dark green, down the front of it
  silver clasps in the form of serpents' heads. The feeling of it against his
  still-trembling flesh was exhilarating. Lighting the candle by his bedside,
  he made his way softly across the room, out the door, and went noiselessly to
  the showers. No one would hear him, and if they did hear him they would not
  dare to stop him. Here, in the Slytherin quarters, in the dungeons, he could
  wander with impunity. He was Lucius Malfoy; he had every right to do as he
  pleased.
  He showered, cleansing himself, feeling the scalding water hitting the back
  of his neck, his long silver-blond hair streaming down over his shoulders,
  the droplets of water falling from his naked whiteness like tiny diamonds,
  jeweled and glittering in the dim light. The soap he used was scented with
  vanilla, his favorite scent, so warm, almost feminine, strangely cozy and
  reassuring. He had never thought of that before, had never wondered at his
  preference for this soft and delicate fragrance.
  He dried himself, letting his hair hang down loosely, almost disheveled,
  knowing how it would look against the background of the dark green robe,
  knowing how he would look, like and angel, like a demon clothed in light,
  deceptive and alluring. He would go to see Severus, asleep in the other
  dormitory, dreaming perhaps of him, of Lucius Malfoy -- for who else would
  haunt his dreams?
  The boy slept in the first bed to the left of the door. Lucius entered
  carefully, stealthily, shielding the candleflame with one hand. He did not
  wish to wake him, at least not at first. What would he look like in slumber?
  Lucius pulled the thick velvet curtain back, gazed down at the still form
  lying before him, so vulnerable, so unaware.
  Severus was curled on his side, his knees pulled up, like a child protecting
  itself, like a small animal. His face, in repose, had a look of such
  indescribable sweetness that it startled him. What had he expected?
  Petulance? Anger? Resentment? Disgust? The sneering mouth looked gentle now,
  lips slightly parted, pink and delicate and easily bruised. His eyes, with
  their long, dark lashes, were closed, his black hair falling in wisps over
  his cheek. His sallow skin looked somehow softer, in the golden candlelight
  looked as delicate and touchable as the skin of a girl. His slender body
  looked fragile also, so thin and small. He could have almost been beautiful.
  Lucius felt like an incubus, like a demonic ravisher of nightmare and legend.
  He enjoyed feeling that way. With one finger, he lightly brushed the flesh of
  the boy's lips, his touch feather-soft and tender. Severus stirred in his
  sleep but did not wake, and Lucius felt his warm breath on his fingertip, the
  sensation making him hard again, exciting him. Moving swiftly then, in one
  fluid motion he put his hand over the boy's mouth, sat down on the bed beside
  him. Severus's body jerked into wakefulness, his dark eyes opening wide in
  fear, in panic. Lucius liked seeing that, liked the fear he saw there, liked
  the feeling of the boy struggling for a moment beneath his hand. "Be still,"
  he whispered. "It's only me. Don't be afraid." He took his hand away, let it
  rest against the boy's cheek, cradling it gently.
  "What? Lucius? What are you doing here?"
  "I've come to see you," Malfoy said, letting his voice caress, imbuing the
  words with meaning.
  "You shouldn't be here," Severus said. He looked, for a moment, almost angry.
  Lucius fought down a momentary flaring of rage. He did not want to win
  him over by intimidation; how much better, how much more permanent and
  meaningful it would be to subdue him with flattery, with kindness, to catch
  him off-guard. "But I wanted to see you," he said softly. "Don't you want me
  here, Severus?"
  In response, the boy lowered his eyes, pushed almost imperceptibly against
  Lucius's hand as it rested against his cheek. He was silent, but the movement
  had been enough, had been a confirmation.
  "I've been thinking about you, Severus. I couldn't sleep for thinking about
  you." It was almost amusing, uttering these lover's words; at least, it would
  have been amusing -- if a part of him had not felt it so deeply, if the words
  had not been true. "I've been thinking of what I want to do to you..."
  Severus looked up at him then, and Lucius felt his own breath grown short and
  hard, felt his cock swelling uncontrollably, seeing that look of tentative
  hope, of fear. He could have in that moment roughly fallen upon him,
  violating him, taking him unexpectedly and brutally in those trembling
  moments that follow sleep, but he would savor the anticipation of it. He
  would learn to make himself wait, although it was not really in his nature to
  do so.
  "I want you to come to my bed, Severus, tomorrow night. I'll be expecting
  you." He moved his hand in a caress, brushing the boy's hair back away from
  his face. "You won't disappoint me, will you?"
  "Someone might see," Severus whispered, his voice thick and choked with
  longing. "I don't know if --"
  "No one will see," Lucius said gently, enjoying the role of seducer. It was
  all he could do to keep a smirk from forming on his beautiful lips, to keep
  the laughter out his voice. "There's nothing to worry about," he said.
  "Everything will be fine."
  Severus was silent, looking at him intently, and Lucius saw it then, the look
  of longing and gratitude that he had so desired to see. "Tell me you'll come
  to me," he said. "Promise me you'll come to me."
  For a moment, Severus said nothing, and Lucius wanted again to be rough with
  him, to be brutal, but he forced himself into patience, forced himself to
  smile tenderly, forced his hand to be gentle, his thumb lightly and
  seductively to brush against the side of the boy's mouth, as though to remind
  him what his mouth had done, to remind him of the feeling of his cock there
  between the parted lips. Severus shuddered slightly, a trembling of arousal
  and longing.
  "Promise me," said Lucius again.
  "I promise," the boy said suddenly. "Tomorrow night. I promise."
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