Characters: Severus Snape/Lucius Malfoy
Warnings: Misuse of Muggle items; weird hallucinations and imagery. Physical restriction, vaguely dub-con, oral sex.
Kinks chosen: Straitjackets
Word Count: 1670
Summary: The Dark Lord has a unique view on punishment.
Author's notes: Written for daily_deviant. This fic is AU as of the release of Book 7. Originally posted March 8, 2007. Please enjoy the porn, thanks.
"Sometimes," the Dark Lord would say, wand twirling slowly between his fingers, "my faithful need punished. To learn their places."
This was never, ever a good thing to hear. Someone would always learn a very painful lesson after that.
Severus' turn for education came only months after he took his Mark. Voldemort's punishments were random, without warning. For Severus, it came in the form of an otherwise innocuous looking soup served with dinner.
In retrospect, he should have been able to tell it was poisoned before the soup even touched his lips. Perhaps, he thought afterwards, he deserved the punishment, if he couldn't identify a simple potion by sight and smell alone.
As it was, he didn't realise until he swallowed that the cream of broccoli tasted distinctly metallic, and by then, it was entirely too late.
One excruciating night of hallucinations – the one of his dead mother shedding body parts everywhere was particularly poignant, and particularly disturbing – would have been enough, but the Dark Lord was always one to want to make a point. Severus struggled against the madness for as long as he could, clinging on to the few differences he could delineate between reality and fantasy, sanity and insanity.
In the thrall of the Dark Lord's own special kind of psychosis, it was easy to forget where Severus the human began and Severus the lunatic ended. Days blended together as he found himself lost to the effects of the Dark Lord's little punishment.
In moments of lucidity, he wondered what he'd done wrong; he served the Dark Lord well -- or, at least, served Him better than many of his so-called colleagues, who were out making absolute fools of themselves with botched murders and shoddy plots.
In moments a bit further from lucidity, Severus was sure that he was in a hell that he didn't even believe in.
"Would you like to know," Voldemort asked, lips low against Severus' ear, "what the Muggles do to their lunatics?"
Severus didn't answer, and rather stared straight ahead at the wall. It was dark brown, but he could have sworn it was dripping with blood.
"They don't cure them," the Dark Lord said. "They bind them and leave them to rot. And what does a lunatic do when left to his own devices?"
Again, no answer from Severus. His brain was working, he thought, but he couldn't make the connection to the rest of his body. His lips moved but no words came forth.
The Dark Lord gestured into the shadows, and before Severus could even begin making sense of his thoughts, he was being pinned to the ground, manhandled into a rough canvas garment. He struggled -- oh, he struggled so well -- but lost, and quickly found himself bound in a jacket with no escape.
The Dark Lord's goons -- and they could have been any of the Death Eaters, really, masked and sworn to do their Lord's bidding -- shoved the wriggling Severus to the ground, satisfied that he was well and truly stuck, before disappearing back to the shadows.
"Left alone, the lunatic will simply self-destruct. This is what the Muggles call treatment, Severus. And this is why they must be stopped, eradicated. Their cruelty is... unspeakable." He crouched low on the floor in front of Severus, a twisted smile on his lips. "But then again, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"
Severus' eyes widened, and Voldemort merely laughed. "You remember your mother, don't you? Poor, darling thing, carted off to one of those dreadful places. She had such a promising future ahead of her, until she squandered it. I heard all about it, of course, the woman driven mad by her filthy Muggle husband, left to wallow in her madness until she died."
Voldemort pushed himself up off the floor, towering over Severus. "And you always did want to follow in her footsteps, didn't you? Well, now's your chance." The Dark Lord turned to leave the room. "You'll have a visitor. Perform well, my little snake, and perhaps you shall earn your release."
He didn't have much to do, aside from sleep. The effects of the Dark Lord's potion were finally wearing off, he thought; at least the worst of the hallucinations had passed.
Severus spent a lot of time analysing the contraption that he was strapped into. His arms were crossed in front of him, held in place by a strap and a buckle that rubbed uncomfortably at the small of his back. A row of straps trailing up his back, all the way to his neck, restrained him even further.
It took him eight hours of struggling, wriggling, and contorting to determine that he couldn't possibly get out of the contraption. Not without magic, or being able to dislocate his shoulders, at the very least.
His mother never got out of hers, after all.
That didn't mean he would give up, though.
He was midway through another roll on the ground, attempting to loosen the straps via friction, when he heard the door creak open.
"Oh, Severus," called a familiar voice, one that did stop him cold. Severus rolled over onto his back, head thudding dully against the floorboards, and looked up at his visitor.
"Lucius," he said, with equal parts fear and relief in his voice. Lucius could be his saviour or his downfall, and Severus wasn't sure that he welcomed either.
From his position on the floor, Severus watched Lucius slowly come into view, all black leather and velvet and aristocratic shine. "What have you done?" Lucius sighed, shrugging out of his cloak, which he tossed to the corner of the room. "When I heard He was testing another one of His faithful, I'd hardly expected it to be you."
Lucius crouched to the ground, kneeling next to Severus' head. "What do you have to say for yourself, Severus?" Lucius asked, pushing a limp lock of hair out of the younger man's eyes.
"What do I have to do to get out of here?" Severus whispered, eyes locked with Lucius' own.
"That's why I'm here," he said, devious grin spreading wide across his face. He winked, then leaned down and brushing his lips against Severus'. "Do you remember what He said to you? He says it to all of the punished. 'Perform well and earn your release.'" Severus nodded dumbly.
Lucius shifted positions, smoothly moving to straddle Severus' chest. "Perform for me," he said, "and perhaps I shall convince the Dark Lord that his little potions maker will be much more vigilant in the future."
The older man didn't wait for Severus to make any signs of acknowledging what was expected of him. Severus was a Death Eater. He knew the rules; he knew his place. Severus counted himself lucky that Lucius had won the privilege of overseeing this little test. Some of the others weren't nearly so kind. Wordlessly, Lucius cupped Severus' face in his hands, a brief moment of tenderness between two men known more for their calculated brutality than their capacity to understand love.
It was over all too quickly, though, as Lucius slid one hand into Severus' hair, using the other hand to pull open his own trousers, freeing his own erection.
"You know what to do," Lucius said, leaning up a bit, head of his cock nudging at Severus' lips.
"Of course," he said, sarcasm overwhelming his tone. The younger man glanced up at Lucius, a flash of something -- fear, regret, anger, all of the above – crossing his face before he opened his mouth, easily taking Lucius' erection in.
Lucius sighed, sagging a bit as Severus deftly licked and sucked, tongue running up the underside of the other man's cock to lap at the head. "Someone's been taking his lessons to heart," Lucius murmured, thrusting his hips forward, barely resisting the urge to fuck Severus' mouth without restraint or regard.
But then he might hurt his little protégé, and Lucius certainly didn't want that.
It was a strange experience for the both of them, Severus being utterly bound and captive to Lucius' whims, unable to touch and hold and claw his way to where he wanted to be.
Lucius loved it.
He pressed his hips forward, groaning as Severus sucked and licked and even, once or twice, used his teeth.
Lucius loved that, too.
"You'll swallow, now," he commanded, pulling away for a fraction of a second before letting Severus take him back in.
It didn't take much to bring him over the edge, just one particularly vicious move from Severus, and Lucius thrust forward, coming with just the tiniest gasp escaping his lips.
Lucius was reluctant to pull away and instead waited for Severus to move away on his own; the younger man finally released Lucius' softening cock with a pop, and a faint smile crossed his lips.
The blond arched his eyebrows, tucking himself deftly back into his trousers before patting Severus on the cheek. "Good enough," he said, standing up to tower over Severus again. "Perhaps I'll recommend that you be kept here a bit longer. You could always perform better."
"Lucius! No!" Severus' eyes opened wide, and he struggled to sit up, a difficult feat without the use of his arms. He wound up on his side, slowly trying to inch his way back to Lucius. "You—you can't. Haven't I—I've learned my error, I swear it."
Lucius merely shrugged his shoulders, stooping for a moment to retrieve his cloak. "I can do whatever I want, Severus," he said. "I think I rather fancy you like this. It's a good look for you." He swirled his cloak around his shoulders and rested his hand on the doorknob. "A few more days, perhaps. Now that you're allegedly sane again, you can spend some time thinking over what the Dark Lord truly meant by putting you in here."
With that, Lucius stalked from the room, leaving Severus to his own devices.
Sanity, he thought, was very, terribly overrated.