Speak for khasael
Title: Speak
Author: fbs_fic
Recipient: khasael
Pairing(s): Severus/Lucius
Word Count: 4,512
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: EWE, dub-con, oral, anal, death
Summary: Even the most brilliant Potions Master makes mistakes.
Author's Notes: I tried to incorporate most of what you listed in your preferences and prompts - slash, same gen, EWE, plot, psychology, and poison. I know you asked for Harry/Draco, but in general I have a hard time writing H/D because it just isn’t a ship I sail. I hope Severus and Lucius please you, instead...
“There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.” ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Something had happened to Lucius’s mind during the war. To be fair, everyone was affected, but he in particular...everything leached out of him the moment he could no longer outrun the consequences of his choices. The man who stood trial after Voldemort’s fall looked as though he had already received the Dementor’s Kiss.
Severus couldn’t claim any insight into his mindset. He didn’t have a family. Only one death had ever mattered to him, and after that, he looked upon the fallen with a hybrid of sympathy and jealousy. True, they had probably died too soon, been unable to do or see many things they desired, but they were done. No longer did they have to deal with the unending tribulation that was life. They went to peace or nothingness, and to Severus, the two were very much the same.
He supposed it would be different if he had a son. Indeed, very different if he outlived that son. There was precious little that could equal losing a child in sheer quantity of heartache. Many had thought that Lucius, like the other Death Eaters, was devoid of a heart; Draco and Narcissa’s deaths had shown the world their mistake.
The Wizengamot was unable to sentence him to The Kiss. Perhaps it was only because they were old and foolhardy, too easily swayed by a man already thoroughly punished, or wary of seeming too harsh. Severus didn’t know. What he did know was that he had been thrust back into the old dance with Lucius.
Lucius was the only Death Eater in custody who was still cognitively intact. All the others had been Kissed. He knew the gut instinct of everyone washing away the grime of war was revenge glossed over by justice, but it was a reckless way to do things. Any information they hoped to receive on the missing and the rest of the Death Eaters who were still at large was lost to the Dementors.
All that was left resided inside the fractured mind of one Lucius Malfoy. Severus had already told the Ministry everything he knew, even submitted to Legilimency and Veritaserum in order to maintain his own freedom, but Lucius remained silent. So very quiet, but never for a moment did Severus believe his old friend was unaware of the situation.
Severus sighed and put down his quill. Lucius vexed him by doing nothing at all. It was quite a change from the past, when Lucius vexed him by being such a bloody peacock. There wasn’t a modest bone in the man’s body and it was a small wonder that he could keep a secret since he seemed unable to moderate the venom that spilled from his lips. Arrogant did not even begin to describe Lucius. Quite simply, Lucius thought he was a god and wished for everyone else to know it and agree.
He didn’t know how or why Lucius had picked him. Maybe it was the knowledge that Severus was immune to all he had. Back then, Severus didn’t see the perfect hair, the deviously mesmerizing eyes, the calculated charm, the perfection that most loved to hate. He only saw Lucius: a very intelligent man who wasted a great deal of time on things that didn’t matter. Because of that, he rarely spared Lucius a thought.
He could only imagine how irritating that had been to Lucius. A god didn’t like to be confronted with his own mortality or ineffectiveness, now did he? When he saw something beyond his reach, he stretched further to claim it. It didn’t matter whether there was actually any real attraction. All that mattered was the reaction - the affirmation.
Boy, had he gotten it. Severus rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Like everyone else, he had caved to Lucius.
Severus rose and walked to the kitchen. It was dark and shoddy and blackened with the dust of viscous brewing smoke. It had taken some time to make it that way, but he was glad that it had at last become something that resembled home. The old Lucius would have made some sneering remark about how it favored an animal’s den more than a home.
He glanced up from the kettle. Lucius was in plain view, draped across one half of the couch. Severus didn’t understand how a man could do so much empty staring. Even after months of Lucius being here, he couldn’t say whether the other man’s head teemed with thought or nothing at all. Lucius never spoke, except...
Except during sex.
Severus knew it was wrong. Lucius was obviously sick. He needed a mind healer and not someone who took advantage of him. It didn’t feel that way, though, when he returned kisses and offered himself with a kind of fragile wantonness.
All of this was wrong. Lucius was his prisoner. Severus was a prisoner, too, bound by the Ministry’s constant pressure to produce some new information from Lucius’s brain or his own. They wanted to know where to find the fugitive Death Eaters. What they refused to accept was that Lucius had been told next to nothing in the last months of the war by nature of his disgraced status, and that Severus knew nothing beyond Nagini’s strike. He had been hanging on to life by a thread. When he blacked out, the war was in its full throes, and when he woke up, it was over. All that had occurred in between was a mystery.
It was futile, and that was why he barely tried to evoke information from Lucius. In spite of his scattered state, Lucius’s Occlumency held strong. Severus didn’t use Veritaserum because, quite frankly, he was afraid of what he might hear. That left him with mere child’s play - judgment-reducing potions, guilt potions, diluted serums that were less effective than a bottle of wine.
He had only tried the guilt potion once and felt his own share of guilt for doing it. Guilt often motivated people to talk. Not so with Lucius. To this day, Severus was unsure if Lucius had intended murder or suicide; maybe both. Truly, guilt potion was an awful invention and he should have known better than to use it on a man who probably spent every minute of his day trying to stay afloat in an ocean of guilt.
Perhaps it was the judgment-reducing potion that enabled Lucius to submit to his captor. A part of Severus could scarcely believe it was anything else. He stole another glance at Lucius to make sure he was distracted. As before, Lucius was staring toward the window, chin resting on his arms. Lost or found? Severus would never know.
He quickly tipped some fresh Loquaciousness Elixir into Lucius’s tea. In times where Lucius consumed only just enough to retain his health, he could always be counted on to drink tea. It was the surest route. Severus stirred in some lemon and sugar and frowned. If this didn’t work, he would have to resort to Veritaserum.
It wouldn’t tell the Ministry anything they wanted, of that he was sure. He wished he could spare Lucius the pain, not to mention spare himself. He didn’t want to hear what Lucius had to say. Though, maybe when it became clear that Severus had exhausted all his options, they would finally stop harping on him, and he could leave Lucius alone.
Lucius drank the tea. Severus sat across from him, waiting and observing. Loquaciousness Elixir had been invented for shy witches and wizards who had difficulty speaking up in social situations. It was proven to cause its user to speak smoothly and confidently without any excess thought or anxiety. Yet nearly two hours later, Lucius remained silent.
He was drowsy. From what, Severus had no idea. Lucius did nothing during the day. Once in a while he read and sometimes he got up to use the loo, but that was the extent of his activity.
“Are you well, Lucius?” he spoke up, wondering if conversation might prompt him.
His blue eyes flickered open to fix upon Snape. They stayed for a moment, distant yet present. Then Lucius offered a lazy shrug and let his eyes slip shut once more.
Severus bit his tongue. Sometimes he felt like he was engaged in a battle of wills with Lucius, and other times he felt as though Lucius was too far gone to care, and the only battle was with himself.
“Why don’t you talk anymore?” he asked. He had never thought to put it so directly before, but what did he have to lose?
Lucius didn’t even open his eyes. “What is there to talk about?” he replied. They were his first words in three days. His first words since the last time they made love.
Severus chuckled quietly to himself. Indeed, what was there to talk about? They were both prisoners, stuck here in limbo with a sidecar of misery. Conditional freedom was not really freedom at all, was it?
Not for the first time, he asked himself why he bothered. He had told the Ministry many times that there was nothing more that he or Lucius could offer. Was he afraid of Azkaban? No. Was Lucius? He thought not. Maybe once the Ministry understood that their threats meant nothing, they would give up.
That wouldn’t happen until he gave up. Severus stood and strode over to the couch, casting his glance down upon Lucius. Lucius was still, but after a few moments he opened his eyes, aware of Snape’s hovering. He had always been preposterously good at hovering.
Yes, Lucius vexed him. He was unreachable. He was in some other place, one where Severus couldn’t exert anything on him, and the only way to drag him back was through his body. In those minutes of pleasure, there was something - someone - Severus recognized, and with that, the desperate hope that the stalemate would end.
One more try. One more.
He eased himself down next to Lucius. He could see tension coil in the other man’s body. This was how it always happened; Lucius had to steel himself for emotion, convince himself that he was allowed to feel pleasure. It wasn’t a battle that could easily be won, and most often Severus ended it by removing the choice. He did so now, leaning down to kiss him.
Lucius kissed back dutifully. Severus hated that. As before, he endeavored to convert it into passion or even simple lust. That was the only way to drag Lucius kicking and screaming from the shadows of his mind.
He slid his hand beneath Lucius’s shirt. It was incredible how someone so disengaged from life could be so warm or have skin that felt so soft. He trailed his hand across belly and ribs and chest, fingers searching. There was a small, sensitive nipple; he tweaked it gently and moved his mouth to the spot just beneath Lucius’s ear. He loved to be there as much as Lucius enjoyed a good necking. Each breath brought him a waft of the scent of clean blond hair mixed with man.
Beneath his hand, he could feel Lucius’s heartbeat accelerating. That basic, involuntary reaction always made Severus’s groin stir, for he knew that when he kissed Lucius again, Lucius would kiss back with something resembling desire. But even in this, Lucius was not himself. There was no demand in his kisses anymore.
There was no demand for anything, not even his own pleasure. He would do whatever Severus wished, frequently asking what that was, but had Severus chosen to leave him unsatisfied, Lucius would not breathe a word. Of course Severus never did that.
Perhaps he ought to, just to see if it would provoke something more from Lucius.
Fuck, Lucius was beautiful. This was the only time color ever crept into his cheeks. He was flushed and breathing hard as Severus ground their hips together. This always pushed him over the edge. The feeling of Lucius’s cock throbbing hard and hot against his own undid his morals.
That was how he could order Lucius down to his knees even though he knew it should have been the other way around. It was how he could twine a hand in flaxen hair and watch as his cock disappeared between lips that either could not or would not provide anything but crude sexual pleasure anymore. Lucius’s eyes flashed up to him as he sucked, and though Severus had seen the expression there many times before, he still couldn’t fathom what it was.
But all that mattered was the surge of electric pleasure that danced up his spine with each wet slide of Lucius’s mouth. He sucked the way he liked to be sucked - that had not escaped Severus’s notice.
“Do you want my hands?” Lucius asked softly when he paused for breath. A strand of his hair was glued to his cheek with saliva.
It should have killed Severus to know that this was all Lucius was capable of, or all he cared to say to him. But he had become addicted to the rare sound of his voice, especially in such gentle and submissive tones.
“Yes,” he nearly groaned. Instantly, a strong hand wound around his shaft. Severus wasn’t finished, though. “Touch yourself while you suck me,” he ordered, looking down to gauge Lucius’s reaction.
Lucius glanced toward his lap, as if he had not even realized that his own erection was still throbbing, neglected, between his legs. Slowly, he reached for it with his left hand.
“Does it feel good?” Severus asked, just wanting to hear his voice again.
Lucius nodded.
“Speak,” Severus commanded. He would obey that order in this context, he was sure of it.
“Yes, it feels good,” Lucius whispered. He would say no more, however, for he moved forward to reclaim Severus’s cock. Severus let him escape the tyranny of words, enthralled by the well-timed combination of stroking and sucking that Lucius lavished upon him. His dark eyes weren’t looking at that, though. They were watching as Lucius stroked himself.
He felt a sharp pulse in his balls when Lucius could not contain a low moan. His blue eyes finally drifted shut and his brows drew together in an expression of bewildered pleasure. Severus knew that if he didn’t pull away, he was going to come all over Lucius’s face.
He pulled back, startling Lucius from the moment of reverie. After a second’s confusion he pushed his hair back from his face and shifted his feet beneath him.
“Too much?” he asked, hands resting on his thighs.
Severus regretted stopping him. Lucius was far away again, the peek of old hedonism lost.
“A bit,” he agreed glumly. “What do you want, Lucius?”
His response was ready and detached. “Whatever you want.”
“I want to know what you want.”
It looked as though he genuinely tried, his jaw working, but Lucius couldn’t answer verbally. With poorly disguised tentativeness, he leaned forward onto his hands and knees. Severus clenched his teeth together. Of course he would be uncertain. This was not Lucius’s role.
Lucius looked back over his shoulder, and then down at the carpet between his hands.
“Hard. Please,” he murmured.
Severus could no more deny the effortful request than the pale, rounded bottom that faced him.
He was certain that he was causing Lucius pain, but it was very clear that he was enjoying it. His head was tilted back, his hair tumbling down, and he let out breathy hisses of pleasure between his teeth. Severus pressed him harder, jerking his hips with force. He wanted more than breaths and noises. He wanted words.
Lucius’s hand came up to grip his wrist. His fingers were bruising. A sound came out of him, something like an ecstatic lament, and Severus couldn’t take it anymore. Orgasm ambushed him, igniting in his core and flashing outward with the speed of a shockwave. He spilled deep inside Lucius, who pressed back against him as if the fulfillment was his own.
When it was done he had to sit back and will his head to stop spinning. Lucius sank gracefully to his side, panting. There were carpet burns on his knees. To Severus’s shock, he reached for his still-engorged cock and began to see to himself without any orders to do so. It was the first time he had shown any initiative or any concern over his own state.
Gleeful, Severus crawled over to him and pushed his hand away. He set his mouth to that magnificent cock and sucked until Lucius came with a sharp arch of his back and a shout of what he most wanted to hear.
“Severus!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He woke in the middle of the night with a terrible dry mouth. Severus stumbled out of bed in desperate need of a glass of water. He had forgotten to drink one before passing out earlier.
He was surprised to see Lucius on the couch again, just as he had been earlier in the evening. A strong sense of déjà vu hit him. Only, one thing was different. Instead of being sprawled out, his body was curled up, and it seemed like he was struggling to breathe.
Severus abandoned his glass of water. Panic welled up inside him when he reached Lucius. Something was very, very wrong.
Lucius’s skin was so pale that each little vein stood out in a macabre webbed map, and his lips were tinged blue. His first thought was that Lucius had taken something - that he was trying to kill himself. But no, Severus was careful to lock everything up at night, even when his brain was addled.
“I’ll call the Healers. Hang on, Lucius,” he beseeched.
“To tell them what? That you poisoned me?” Lucius gasped.
Severus stepped back, stunned by the ease of his response, and by his lashing words. His voice was so like the old Lucius that Severus couldn’t move.
“You will find this hard to believe...but when I was a boy...six or seven...I used to stutter. The healer told my parents to use Loquaciousness Elixir.”
Yes, that made sense. A secondary usage of the elixir was to ease or cure stuttering. No one knew why it worked, but it did with very few side effects and people had nothing but praise for it. He could scarcely believe that Lucius ever had a problem speaking, but --
Severus paled. If he had taken the elixir as a boy, he knew its taste, its feel, and its effects. He knew Severus had slipped it into his tea. Lucius saw the realization on his face.
“You mixed it with lemon, Severus,” he wheezed.
No. No, no, no. As a Potions Master, he knew that Loquaciousness Elixir reacted with lemon and could be fatal if ingested together. But he had added the lemon to Lucius’s tea out of pure, automatic habit, knowing that the other wizard liked it that way.
“Why did you drink it if you knew?” he demanded.
“I didn’t realize until after. Until I wanted to talk to you, you son of a bitch.” He squeezed his eyes shut and dragged a halting breath in. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to breathe and Severus knew why. His respiratory muscles were failing.
There was literally nothing he could do. A bezoar wouldn’t work - it wasn’t a typical poison because the lemon-tainted elixir only became poisonous after it was metabolized in the body. That was why Lucius had not reacted right away. And now, it was so far along that even if he got Lucius to a hospital in the next minute, most of his organs would already have failed. The blue tint of his skin was probably a combination of his heart, lungs, and muscles all shutting down at the same time.
As Severus watched, he faded. He must have known this would happen.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why?” he demanded, hands fisting into Lucius’s nightshirt.
His eyes flashed with anger. “Because,” he gasped. “Because I wanted you...to know...what it feels like...”
“How what feels like?” he nearly shouted.
“The...guilt!” His lips, cyanotic like those of a child who had been in cold water too long, stretched into a pained grin. “I...go...to Draco...and Narcissa. Who...will receive you...Severus?”
And before he could respond, Lucius stopped breathing altogether.
Severus leaned forward, his face pressed into the chest that no longer had the rumble of a beating heart beneath it. Guilt welled up in him in thick waves. Lucius had figured out that he was using potions on him and that he was going to die, perhaps on purpose, perhaps not, and he had submitted to sex anyway. He had gone out of his way to please Severus. He had laid with him afterwards, silent but knowing.
Oh, God.
He stumbled to his feet, groping on his bookshelf for anything he could find on the elixir. If there was an antidote listed...it was probably too late, but one never knew. Severus was dizzy and his hands shaking as he turned pages clumsily, ripping some along the way.
When he got to Loquaciousness Elixir, he scanned it urgently.
...extremely dangerous if mixed with lemon, less so with other citrus fruits, but these will likely still cause a reaction of varying severity...
...if the reaction is not caught in early stages it is impossible to reverse without severe organ damage and possibly death...
...lemon radically alters the potion’s structure, and it becomes toxic once metabolized by the liver...
...the toxic remnants are secreted into the bloodstream and the body may attempt to eliminate them through sweat, urine, feces, and in some cases, sexual fluids...
His eyes went wide. Suddenly, Lucius’s last words made sense. The shortness of breath he was feeling was not borne of panic or guilt or anything nearly so benign. He had swallowed Lucius’s semen only a few hours before - and it was full of the potion-turned-poison.
Who will receive you, Severus?
Lucius knew. He knew he might poison him in return, though he had never asked for Severus to bring him to orgasm. Nonetheless, he hadn’t stopped him, either.
He had to get to St. Mungo’s. Now. The world was narrowing, his throat closing, and if he could just make it to the floo...
He reached for the powder and threw it as he collapsed to his knees.
“St....Mungo’s...!”
His cheek hit the cold stone hearth, and his eyes closed against the dancing green flames.
Consciousness returned with a rush. Severus jerked awake in confusion, unsure where or when he was. It felt like he had been under for a thousand years.
His muscles were weak. Each limb seemed a small boulder as he tried to move, to climb out of the strange bed.
“Stay put, Snape. You’re still recovering.”
He looked towards the voice and blinked. It was Kingsley Shacklebolt standing there. Severus had mixed feelings on the man; as Minister, he had helped in keeping Severus out of Azkaban a great deal, yet he had been the architect of the entire disaster with Lucius. He had been the one to insist that Severus try to glean information from him. Though, in all fairness, he had done it to try to improve Snape’s image, and it was the Wizengamot that hounded him, not Kingsley.
“How?”
“Blood cleansers. The healers said you got here quickly enough to escape major organ damage, but it was a wicked poison.”
Severus swallowed, afraid to voice his next question. “And Lucius?” he forced out.
“He was already dead when they went through the floo.”
Severus closed his eyes, pain and shame permeating his mind. “I...he...”
“You don’t have to explain. It’s obvious what happened. He poisoned you, and then himself.” Shacklebolt frowned. “I never should have assumed you would be safe with him. I’m sorry, Severus.”
No, you should never have assumed he would be safe with me...
“It’s my fault,” he replied, his voice breaking. “I should have been more careful with him.”
“He belonged here, not with you,” Shacklebolt said, gesturing to the hospital around them. “There was no hope for him. I shouldn’t have put you in harm’s way.”
“He was...very ill,” Severus choked.
“Well, he got what he wanted.” Kingsley paused, looking away. “And I don’t know that he was really trying to kill you. The healers said he used a lot less poison on you than on himself, and its effects were worse because of your previous poisoning at the end of the war. Maybe he just meant to incapacitate you so he could end things uninterrupted.”
Shacklebolt must have seen the look on his face, the expression of absolute agony. He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry again, Severus. No one will ask anything of you from now on. I’ll see to that.” He placed a hand on Snape’s shoulder. “You focus on getting well.”
But there was no wellness anymore. There was only shame, guilt, and an odd paralysis. Now he knew what had gone on in Lucius’s mind in those long, long hours of silence. He knew why he seemed so tired as the day dragged on. The very act of existing with the knowledge of what he’d done sapped everything away.
He moved, but he couldn’t leave Lucius’s ghost behind. He saw him in every cauldron, every potion, every apothecary. He checked his reference materials obsessively when he brewed. What had once been so easy, so automatic and effortless, became an exercise in anxiety. Yet he couldn’t stop brewing; it was his only viable skill.
In the dark hours of the night, when he was alone, he could not help but think of it all. He hoped to Merlin that Lucius had found Draco and Narcissa. He hoped that every notion of Muggle religion was wrong, and that Lucius did not burn in a place of despair and torment. Even just to fade to nothing would be a sweet relief. There was no pain in nothingness, no knowledge of loss.
Who will receive you, Severus?
No one.
He poisoned you, and then himself.
No. Severus had done all the poisoning, of both words and deeds.
At last, one night he understood the final mystery. He understood that unfathomable expression in Lucius’s eyes when they made love.
I hate you, Severus, because you have no concept of loss.
And that smile, the one just before he died...
Ah, but now you have lost me.
Author: fbs_fic
Recipient: khasael
Pairing(s): Severus/Lucius
Word Count: 4,512
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: EWE, dub-con, oral, anal, death
Summary: Even the most brilliant Potions Master makes mistakes.
Author's Notes: I tried to incorporate most of what you listed in your preferences and prompts - slash, same gen, EWE, plot, psychology, and poison. I know you asked for Harry/Draco, but in general I have a hard time writing H/D because it just isn’t a ship I sail. I hope Severus and Lucius please you, instead...
“There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.” ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Something had happened to Lucius’s mind during the war. To be fair, everyone was affected, but he in particular...everything leached out of him the moment he could no longer outrun the consequences of his choices. The man who stood trial after Voldemort’s fall looked as though he had already received the Dementor’s Kiss.
Severus couldn’t claim any insight into his mindset. He didn’t have a family. Only one death had ever mattered to him, and after that, he looked upon the fallen with a hybrid of sympathy and jealousy. True, they had probably died too soon, been unable to do or see many things they desired, but they were done. No longer did they have to deal with the unending tribulation that was life. They went to peace or nothingness, and to Severus, the two were very much the same.
He supposed it would be different if he had a son. Indeed, very different if he outlived that son. There was precious little that could equal losing a child in sheer quantity of heartache. Many had thought that Lucius, like the other Death Eaters, was devoid of a heart; Draco and Narcissa’s deaths had shown the world their mistake.
The Wizengamot was unable to sentence him to The Kiss. Perhaps it was only because they were old and foolhardy, too easily swayed by a man already thoroughly punished, or wary of seeming too harsh. Severus didn’t know. What he did know was that he had been thrust back into the old dance with Lucius.
Lucius was the only Death Eater in custody who was still cognitively intact. All the others had been Kissed. He knew the gut instinct of everyone washing away the grime of war was revenge glossed over by justice, but it was a reckless way to do things. Any information they hoped to receive on the missing and the rest of the Death Eaters who were still at large was lost to the Dementors.
All that was left resided inside the fractured mind of one Lucius Malfoy. Severus had already told the Ministry everything he knew, even submitted to Legilimency and Veritaserum in order to maintain his own freedom, but Lucius remained silent. So very quiet, but never for a moment did Severus believe his old friend was unaware of the situation.
Severus sighed and put down his quill. Lucius vexed him by doing nothing at all. It was quite a change from the past, when Lucius vexed him by being such a bloody peacock. There wasn’t a modest bone in the man’s body and it was a small wonder that he could keep a secret since he seemed unable to moderate the venom that spilled from his lips. Arrogant did not even begin to describe Lucius. Quite simply, Lucius thought he was a god and wished for everyone else to know it and agree.
He didn’t know how or why Lucius had picked him. Maybe it was the knowledge that Severus was immune to all he had. Back then, Severus didn’t see the perfect hair, the deviously mesmerizing eyes, the calculated charm, the perfection that most loved to hate. He only saw Lucius: a very intelligent man who wasted a great deal of time on things that didn’t matter. Because of that, he rarely spared Lucius a thought.
He could only imagine how irritating that had been to Lucius. A god didn’t like to be confronted with his own mortality or ineffectiveness, now did he? When he saw something beyond his reach, he stretched further to claim it. It didn’t matter whether there was actually any real attraction. All that mattered was the reaction - the affirmation.
Boy, had he gotten it. Severus rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Like everyone else, he had caved to Lucius.
Severus rose and walked to the kitchen. It was dark and shoddy and blackened with the dust of viscous brewing smoke. It had taken some time to make it that way, but he was glad that it had at last become something that resembled home. The old Lucius would have made some sneering remark about how it favored an animal’s den more than a home.
He glanced up from the kettle. Lucius was in plain view, draped across one half of the couch. Severus didn’t understand how a man could do so much empty staring. Even after months of Lucius being here, he couldn’t say whether the other man’s head teemed with thought or nothing at all. Lucius never spoke, except...
Except during sex.
Severus knew it was wrong. Lucius was obviously sick. He needed a mind healer and not someone who took advantage of him. It didn’t feel that way, though, when he returned kisses and offered himself with a kind of fragile wantonness.
All of this was wrong. Lucius was his prisoner. Severus was a prisoner, too, bound by the Ministry’s constant pressure to produce some new information from Lucius’s brain or his own. They wanted to know where to find the fugitive Death Eaters. What they refused to accept was that Lucius had been told next to nothing in the last months of the war by nature of his disgraced status, and that Severus knew nothing beyond Nagini’s strike. He had been hanging on to life by a thread. When he blacked out, the war was in its full throes, and when he woke up, it was over. All that had occurred in between was a mystery.
It was futile, and that was why he barely tried to evoke information from Lucius. In spite of his scattered state, Lucius’s Occlumency held strong. Severus didn’t use Veritaserum because, quite frankly, he was afraid of what he might hear. That left him with mere child’s play - judgment-reducing potions, guilt potions, diluted serums that were less effective than a bottle of wine.
He had only tried the guilt potion once and felt his own share of guilt for doing it. Guilt often motivated people to talk. Not so with Lucius. To this day, Severus was unsure if Lucius had intended murder or suicide; maybe both. Truly, guilt potion was an awful invention and he should have known better than to use it on a man who probably spent every minute of his day trying to stay afloat in an ocean of guilt.
Perhaps it was the judgment-reducing potion that enabled Lucius to submit to his captor. A part of Severus could scarcely believe it was anything else. He stole another glance at Lucius to make sure he was distracted. As before, Lucius was staring toward the window, chin resting on his arms. Lost or found? Severus would never know.
He quickly tipped some fresh Loquaciousness Elixir into Lucius’s tea. In times where Lucius consumed only just enough to retain his health, he could always be counted on to drink tea. It was the surest route. Severus stirred in some lemon and sugar and frowned. If this didn’t work, he would have to resort to Veritaserum.
It wouldn’t tell the Ministry anything they wanted, of that he was sure. He wished he could spare Lucius the pain, not to mention spare himself. He didn’t want to hear what Lucius had to say. Though, maybe when it became clear that Severus had exhausted all his options, they would finally stop harping on him, and he could leave Lucius alone.
Lucius drank the tea. Severus sat across from him, waiting and observing. Loquaciousness Elixir had been invented for shy witches and wizards who had difficulty speaking up in social situations. It was proven to cause its user to speak smoothly and confidently without any excess thought or anxiety. Yet nearly two hours later, Lucius remained silent.
He was drowsy. From what, Severus had no idea. Lucius did nothing during the day. Once in a while he read and sometimes he got up to use the loo, but that was the extent of his activity.
“Are you well, Lucius?” he spoke up, wondering if conversation might prompt him.
His blue eyes flickered open to fix upon Snape. They stayed for a moment, distant yet present. Then Lucius offered a lazy shrug and let his eyes slip shut once more.
Severus bit his tongue. Sometimes he felt like he was engaged in a battle of wills with Lucius, and other times he felt as though Lucius was too far gone to care, and the only battle was with himself.
“Why don’t you talk anymore?” he asked. He had never thought to put it so directly before, but what did he have to lose?
Lucius didn’t even open his eyes. “What is there to talk about?” he replied. They were his first words in three days. His first words since the last time they made love.
Severus chuckled quietly to himself. Indeed, what was there to talk about? They were both prisoners, stuck here in limbo with a sidecar of misery. Conditional freedom was not really freedom at all, was it?
Not for the first time, he asked himself why he bothered. He had told the Ministry many times that there was nothing more that he or Lucius could offer. Was he afraid of Azkaban? No. Was Lucius? He thought not. Maybe once the Ministry understood that their threats meant nothing, they would give up.
That wouldn’t happen until he gave up. Severus stood and strode over to the couch, casting his glance down upon Lucius. Lucius was still, but after a few moments he opened his eyes, aware of Snape’s hovering. He had always been preposterously good at hovering.
Yes, Lucius vexed him. He was unreachable. He was in some other place, one where Severus couldn’t exert anything on him, and the only way to drag him back was through his body. In those minutes of pleasure, there was something - someone - Severus recognized, and with that, the desperate hope that the stalemate would end.
One more try. One more.
He eased himself down next to Lucius. He could see tension coil in the other man’s body. This was how it always happened; Lucius had to steel himself for emotion, convince himself that he was allowed to feel pleasure. It wasn’t a battle that could easily be won, and most often Severus ended it by removing the choice. He did so now, leaning down to kiss him.
Lucius kissed back dutifully. Severus hated that. As before, he endeavored to convert it into passion or even simple lust. That was the only way to drag Lucius kicking and screaming from the shadows of his mind.
He slid his hand beneath Lucius’s shirt. It was incredible how someone so disengaged from life could be so warm or have skin that felt so soft. He trailed his hand across belly and ribs and chest, fingers searching. There was a small, sensitive nipple; he tweaked it gently and moved his mouth to the spot just beneath Lucius’s ear. He loved to be there as much as Lucius enjoyed a good necking. Each breath brought him a waft of the scent of clean blond hair mixed with man.
Beneath his hand, he could feel Lucius’s heartbeat accelerating. That basic, involuntary reaction always made Severus’s groin stir, for he knew that when he kissed Lucius again, Lucius would kiss back with something resembling desire. But even in this, Lucius was not himself. There was no demand in his kisses anymore.
There was no demand for anything, not even his own pleasure. He would do whatever Severus wished, frequently asking what that was, but had Severus chosen to leave him unsatisfied, Lucius would not breathe a word. Of course Severus never did that.
Perhaps he ought to, just to see if it would provoke something more from Lucius.
Fuck, Lucius was beautiful. This was the only time color ever crept into his cheeks. He was flushed and breathing hard as Severus ground their hips together. This always pushed him over the edge. The feeling of Lucius’s cock throbbing hard and hot against his own undid his morals.
That was how he could order Lucius down to his knees even though he knew it should have been the other way around. It was how he could twine a hand in flaxen hair and watch as his cock disappeared between lips that either could not or would not provide anything but crude sexual pleasure anymore. Lucius’s eyes flashed up to him as he sucked, and though Severus had seen the expression there many times before, he still couldn’t fathom what it was.
But all that mattered was the surge of electric pleasure that danced up his spine with each wet slide of Lucius’s mouth. He sucked the way he liked to be sucked - that had not escaped Severus’s notice.
“Do you want my hands?” Lucius asked softly when he paused for breath. A strand of his hair was glued to his cheek with saliva.
It should have killed Severus to know that this was all Lucius was capable of, or all he cared to say to him. But he had become addicted to the rare sound of his voice, especially in such gentle and submissive tones.
“Yes,” he nearly groaned. Instantly, a strong hand wound around his shaft. Severus wasn’t finished, though. “Touch yourself while you suck me,” he ordered, looking down to gauge Lucius’s reaction.
Lucius glanced toward his lap, as if he had not even realized that his own erection was still throbbing, neglected, between his legs. Slowly, he reached for it with his left hand.
“Does it feel good?” Severus asked, just wanting to hear his voice again.
Lucius nodded.
“Speak,” Severus commanded. He would obey that order in this context, he was sure of it.
“Yes, it feels good,” Lucius whispered. He would say no more, however, for he moved forward to reclaim Severus’s cock. Severus let him escape the tyranny of words, enthralled by the well-timed combination of stroking and sucking that Lucius lavished upon him. His dark eyes weren’t looking at that, though. They were watching as Lucius stroked himself.
He felt a sharp pulse in his balls when Lucius could not contain a low moan. His blue eyes finally drifted shut and his brows drew together in an expression of bewildered pleasure. Severus knew that if he didn’t pull away, he was going to come all over Lucius’s face.
He pulled back, startling Lucius from the moment of reverie. After a second’s confusion he pushed his hair back from his face and shifted his feet beneath him.
“Too much?” he asked, hands resting on his thighs.
Severus regretted stopping him. Lucius was far away again, the peek of old hedonism lost.
“A bit,” he agreed glumly. “What do you want, Lucius?”
His response was ready and detached. “Whatever you want.”
“I want to know what you want.”
It looked as though he genuinely tried, his jaw working, but Lucius couldn’t answer verbally. With poorly disguised tentativeness, he leaned forward onto his hands and knees. Severus clenched his teeth together. Of course he would be uncertain. This was not Lucius’s role.
Lucius looked back over his shoulder, and then down at the carpet between his hands.
“Hard. Please,” he murmured.
Severus could no more deny the effortful request than the pale, rounded bottom that faced him.
He was certain that he was causing Lucius pain, but it was very clear that he was enjoying it. His head was tilted back, his hair tumbling down, and he let out breathy hisses of pleasure between his teeth. Severus pressed him harder, jerking his hips with force. He wanted more than breaths and noises. He wanted words.
Lucius’s hand came up to grip his wrist. His fingers were bruising. A sound came out of him, something like an ecstatic lament, and Severus couldn’t take it anymore. Orgasm ambushed him, igniting in his core and flashing outward with the speed of a shockwave. He spilled deep inside Lucius, who pressed back against him as if the fulfillment was his own.
When it was done he had to sit back and will his head to stop spinning. Lucius sank gracefully to his side, panting. There were carpet burns on his knees. To Severus’s shock, he reached for his still-engorged cock and began to see to himself without any orders to do so. It was the first time he had shown any initiative or any concern over his own state.
Gleeful, Severus crawled over to him and pushed his hand away. He set his mouth to that magnificent cock and sucked until Lucius came with a sharp arch of his back and a shout of what he most wanted to hear.
“Severus!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He woke in the middle of the night with a terrible dry mouth. Severus stumbled out of bed in desperate need of a glass of water. He had forgotten to drink one before passing out earlier.
He was surprised to see Lucius on the couch again, just as he had been earlier in the evening. A strong sense of déjà vu hit him. Only, one thing was different. Instead of being sprawled out, his body was curled up, and it seemed like he was struggling to breathe.
Severus abandoned his glass of water. Panic welled up inside him when he reached Lucius. Something was very, very wrong.
Lucius’s skin was so pale that each little vein stood out in a macabre webbed map, and his lips were tinged blue. His first thought was that Lucius had taken something - that he was trying to kill himself. But no, Severus was careful to lock everything up at night, even when his brain was addled.
“I’ll call the Healers. Hang on, Lucius,” he beseeched.
“To tell them what? That you poisoned me?” Lucius gasped.
Severus stepped back, stunned by the ease of his response, and by his lashing words. His voice was so like the old Lucius that Severus couldn’t move.
“You will find this hard to believe...but when I was a boy...six or seven...I used to stutter. The healer told my parents to use Loquaciousness Elixir.”
Yes, that made sense. A secondary usage of the elixir was to ease or cure stuttering. No one knew why it worked, but it did with very few side effects and people had nothing but praise for it. He could scarcely believe that Lucius ever had a problem speaking, but --
Severus paled. If he had taken the elixir as a boy, he knew its taste, its feel, and its effects. He knew Severus had slipped it into his tea. Lucius saw the realization on his face.
“You mixed it with lemon, Severus,” he wheezed.
No. No, no, no. As a Potions Master, he knew that Loquaciousness Elixir reacted with lemon and could be fatal if ingested together. But he had added the lemon to Lucius’s tea out of pure, automatic habit, knowing that the other wizard liked it that way.
“Why did you drink it if you knew?” he demanded.
“I didn’t realize until after. Until I wanted to talk to you, you son of a bitch.” He squeezed his eyes shut and dragged a halting breath in. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to breathe and Severus knew why. His respiratory muscles were failing.
There was literally nothing he could do. A bezoar wouldn’t work - it wasn’t a typical poison because the lemon-tainted elixir only became poisonous after it was metabolized in the body. That was why Lucius had not reacted right away. And now, it was so far along that even if he got Lucius to a hospital in the next minute, most of his organs would already have failed. The blue tint of his skin was probably a combination of his heart, lungs, and muscles all shutting down at the same time.
As Severus watched, he faded. He must have known this would happen.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why?” he demanded, hands fisting into Lucius’s nightshirt.
His eyes flashed with anger. “Because,” he gasped. “Because I wanted you...to know...what it feels like...”
“How what feels like?” he nearly shouted.
“The...guilt!” His lips, cyanotic like those of a child who had been in cold water too long, stretched into a pained grin. “I...go...to Draco...and Narcissa. Who...will receive you...Severus?”
And before he could respond, Lucius stopped breathing altogether.
Severus leaned forward, his face pressed into the chest that no longer had the rumble of a beating heart beneath it. Guilt welled up in him in thick waves. Lucius had figured out that he was using potions on him and that he was going to die, perhaps on purpose, perhaps not, and he had submitted to sex anyway. He had gone out of his way to please Severus. He had laid with him afterwards, silent but knowing.
Oh, God.
He stumbled to his feet, groping on his bookshelf for anything he could find on the elixir. If there was an antidote listed...it was probably too late, but one never knew. Severus was dizzy and his hands shaking as he turned pages clumsily, ripping some along the way.
When he got to Loquaciousness Elixir, he scanned it urgently.
...extremely dangerous if mixed with lemon, less so with other citrus fruits, but these will likely still cause a reaction of varying severity...
...if the reaction is not caught in early stages it is impossible to reverse without severe organ damage and possibly death...
...lemon radically alters the potion’s structure, and it becomes toxic once metabolized by the liver...
...the toxic remnants are secreted into the bloodstream and the body may attempt to eliminate them through sweat, urine, feces, and in some cases, sexual fluids...
His eyes went wide. Suddenly, Lucius’s last words made sense. The shortness of breath he was feeling was not borne of panic or guilt or anything nearly so benign. He had swallowed Lucius’s semen only a few hours before - and it was full of the potion-turned-poison.
Who will receive you, Severus?
Lucius knew. He knew he might poison him in return, though he had never asked for Severus to bring him to orgasm. Nonetheless, he hadn’t stopped him, either.
He had to get to St. Mungo’s. Now. The world was narrowing, his throat closing, and if he could just make it to the floo...
He reached for the powder and threw it as he collapsed to his knees.
“St....Mungo’s...!”
His cheek hit the cold stone hearth, and his eyes closed against the dancing green flames.
Consciousness returned with a rush. Severus jerked awake in confusion, unsure where or when he was. It felt like he had been under for a thousand years.
His muscles were weak. Each limb seemed a small boulder as he tried to move, to climb out of the strange bed.
“Stay put, Snape. You’re still recovering.”
He looked towards the voice and blinked. It was Kingsley Shacklebolt standing there. Severus had mixed feelings on the man; as Minister, he had helped in keeping Severus out of Azkaban a great deal, yet he had been the architect of the entire disaster with Lucius. He had been the one to insist that Severus try to glean information from him. Though, in all fairness, he had done it to try to improve Snape’s image, and it was the Wizengamot that hounded him, not Kingsley.
“How?”
“Blood cleansers. The healers said you got here quickly enough to escape major organ damage, but it was a wicked poison.”
Severus swallowed, afraid to voice his next question. “And Lucius?” he forced out.
“He was already dead when they went through the floo.”
Severus closed his eyes, pain and shame permeating his mind. “I...he...”
“You don’t have to explain. It’s obvious what happened. He poisoned you, and then himself.” Shacklebolt frowned. “I never should have assumed you would be safe with him. I’m sorry, Severus.”
No, you should never have assumed he would be safe with me...
“It’s my fault,” he replied, his voice breaking. “I should have been more careful with him.”
“He belonged here, not with you,” Shacklebolt said, gesturing to the hospital around them. “There was no hope for him. I shouldn’t have put you in harm’s way.”
“He was...very ill,” Severus choked.
“Well, he got what he wanted.” Kingsley paused, looking away. “And I don’t know that he was really trying to kill you. The healers said he used a lot less poison on you than on himself, and its effects were worse because of your previous poisoning at the end of the war. Maybe he just meant to incapacitate you so he could end things uninterrupted.”
Shacklebolt must have seen the look on his face, the expression of absolute agony. He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry again, Severus. No one will ask anything of you from now on. I’ll see to that.” He placed a hand on Snape’s shoulder. “You focus on getting well.”
But there was no wellness anymore. There was only shame, guilt, and an odd paralysis. Now he knew what had gone on in Lucius’s mind in those long, long hours of silence. He knew why he seemed so tired as the day dragged on. The very act of existing with the knowledge of what he’d done sapped everything away.
He moved, but he couldn’t leave Lucius’s ghost behind. He saw him in every cauldron, every potion, every apothecary. He checked his reference materials obsessively when he brewed. What had once been so easy, so automatic and effortless, became an exercise in anxiety. Yet he couldn’t stop brewing; it was his only viable skill.
In the dark hours of the night, when he was alone, he could not help but think of it all. He hoped to Merlin that Lucius had found Draco and Narcissa. He hoped that every notion of Muggle religion was wrong, and that Lucius did not burn in a place of despair and torment. Even just to fade to nothing would be a sweet relief. There was no pain in nothingness, no knowledge of loss.
Who will receive you, Severus?
No one.
He poisoned you, and then himself.
No. Severus had done all the poisoning, of both words and deeds.
At last, one night he understood the final mystery. He understood that unfathomable expression in Lucius’s eyes when they made love.
I hate you, Severus, because you have no concept of loss.
And that smile, the one just before he died...
Ah, but now you have lost me.