BALANCE IN THE DARK by
Mac
Rating: MV
Severus Snape’s life had become a daily matter of
choice and balance. Live or die, win or loose, the
outcome of that particular moment was, as often as not, in his hands.
To die, all he had to do was fail. Failure was
all too easy for the servant of such a dangerous master.
As he stood in a shadow by the wall, hands tucked
in his sleeves, Severus was able to observe his surroundings almost unnoticed.
The vast room, with its art and glamour, its shadowed power and dangerous edge, was a bustle
of activity even at that time of night. People moved in
and out constantly; couriers arriving and departing, servants carrying message ravens,
people in audience for petitions, district commanders present for orders, courtiers and
hangers on, cheats and liars, fools and whores.
And which am I, he wondered idly, as a waft of
music drifted through the room like dark incense. Possibly
a fool, definitely a liar, certainly a whore. And very,
very good at all three.
Severus felt a twitch at his forehead and closed
his eyes, and waited. The twitch grew into a sparkling
pain that spiraled through his brain, down his chest, to gently circle his heart – and then lower,
past his stomach to lodge, finally, at his groin. Like
a hand caressing him, he was fully aroused in a moment - aroused and wanting and in pain.
So it was for the wakening of the Bright Mark he bore on his forehead, marking him as his
Lord’s primary servant, and most totally possessed.
Lord Severus Snape, High Lord Mage, had been
summoned.
Straightening, Severus moved out of the shadow,
absently commanding the arousal away as he did. He
strode past the brightly dressed hangers-on, the gleaming soldiers, moving in black silence.
Though it was a long time since his teaching days, he still missed his robes now and again,
and still dressed in the black. Oh vanity, he thought
with a small smile, that made a man dress to please. He
knew it suited him, the comfortable velvet trousers tucked into ankle boots, the black silk shirt
and overvest, belted in leather and silver, all matching his trimmed black hair and pale skin.
Now and then he wore a cloak to add some menace to his movement, but in that court, amongst
the lesser beings, it was hardly necessary. The only
other colour was the perfect emerald in the ring in his left ear and the matching one, unseen,
beneath his clothes.
They stepped out of his way, few of them meeting
his eye, except for some of the newer ones. Those were
a little awed, a little frightened, a little envious. Almost
as famous as the lord they all served, and quite as mysterious.
As he reached the clear area before the dais, the
door at the side opened and their master came into the room.
All in the room dropped to their knees, including
Severus. He moved gracefully, lowering his head,
placing his palms on the gold-veined marble. There was
a light touch on his head; the Mark sparked again and he looked up into the pale, beautiful
features.
Long lashes were half lowered over the green eyes,
and the features were expressionless.
“My Lord Snape,” said the quiet, deadly voice.
“I will not need you tonight.”
Snape’s eyes flickered sideways. A new toy then; a redhead – typical – young and wide-eyed, slender and
obviously terrified. He looked back and lowered his
head.
“Yes, my Lord.”
In his rooms later that evening, he drank his wine
even though it was only for the taste and the mild temporary buzz.
He couldn’t get drunk anymore, no matter how much he consumed.
Linked to his master, there were limitations to everything, except perhaps for regret.
As he set the wine aside and went to bathe, he wondered if the redhead would be alive in the
morning, and if so, how long he would amuse his master.
Severus was woken by the Mark during the middle of
the night with a definite sense of command. Pulling on
his robe, he walked barefoot down the lamp-lit corridor to the Lord’s rooms.
They were guarded by hellhounds, two enormous white beasts who never slept.
The creatures knew him but still he stood and waited while they smelled him thoroughly,
checking for magic or weapons or poison. When
satisfied, they stepped back and he was allowed to enter.
The red head was on the floor near the fire,
sobbing. Naked, his white back and buttocks were
crisscrossed with bleeding wounds. The boy shivered as
the Lord’s voice came from the bedroom.
“Get rid of him.
He’s a bore. I need you, Severus.”
Severus pull the boy up, threw him a robe and
pointed to the door. “Get out,” he whispered,
looking down into the frightened eyes. “Go to the end
of the hall, and ask the guards to take you to the gate. Then
start running and don’t stop. Understand?”
The boy shuddered and whimpered a little, but did
as he was told. When the door closed behind him,
Severus moved away from the fire and went into the bedroom.
He was lying on his back on the huge bed, naked,
aroused, with a bloodied cane in one languid hand. Black
hair splayed across the dark red cover, in counterpoint to the pale unmarked flesh.
As beautiful as sin, Severus thought, as he let his robe drop to the floor and removed the
sleeping robes with a twitch of his fingers. Naked, he
crawled up onto the bed and rested his head across the flat stomach.
In a moment fingers had wound into his hair. He
could smell old blood and other things and his Mark fizzled again, igniting his body.
“He did look a little like Ron,” the young/old
voice said, in a contemplative tone, “but he didn’t have Ron’s spirit, and he couldn’t tell
jokes and he had no idea what quidditch was.” The
fingers formed into a fist, tightening in his hair. “And
you really want to say I told you so, don’t you?”
“Not at all.
I have a few things I want, but can’t have. I’d
like to get just a little drunk now and then, and this,” he finished, running a finger over his
forehead, “won’t let me.” He turned to nuzzle his
cheek across the warm stomach. “Everything has its
price.”
The hands moved down to his face, cupped his cheeks
and raised his face and their eyes locked, green and black. All
kinds of unspoken words swirled around them; how much he loved and hated the one who held him, how
often his Lord trembled in the balance between taking his life and not, and stayed his hand.
They both balanced over their own abyss, held in place by habit and something very like
addiction.
His Lord’s body moved, stretching with sinuous
pleasure, the cock rising out of its nest of tightly curled hair. “Did you ever want me when I was a boy, Severus?
Did you ever want this inside you,” he asked, voice deepening to a rumble as he took hold
of his cock, “or did you want to fuck my lovely young virginal arse?”
As Harry’s legs opened, Severus moved between
them, and bent his head to run his beard-roughened cheeks over the sensitive flesh of his master’s
inner thigh. “No, I thought you were an obnoxious
little prick. All I wanted to do with you lovely young
virginal arse was plant my oversized boot on it.”
Harry laughed, and the laugh mutated into a moan
when Severus pushed his hand aside and went down on the rising cock in one movement.
He sucked on it viciously, using his tongue and the inside of his mouth and throat to absorb
all he that could, hearing the sounds of pleasure, feeling that pleasure spark through the white
snake that wound across his forehead. The snake had tiny opaline eyes and Severus knew they were
gleaming at that moment. Hands scrabbled at him and he turned around and then his buttocks were
being parted and a hot, wet mouth pressed against him and he was being opened and bitten and tongued
till it was all he could do not to scream.
A part of his mind could still wonder at it.
A few years ago he’d never sucked anyone off, never fucked or been fucked, and certainly
had never known what rimming was. He’d been even more
untutored in the sexual practices than Harry, but it hadn’t taken his new young dark Lord long to
start experimenting – with others, with beasts and monsters, with whatever took his fancy – but
he always returned to Snape. Severus suspected that the
fear he created in others was no longer quite the aphrodisiac it had once been.
When the darkness and anger and power had overwhelmed and altered him, still it had not
destroyed all that he had once been. Part of him still
needed what Severus Snape gave him. Whatever that might
be.
He wondered, as his Lord positioned him, if he would bend and take it from anyone else with quite the same ease. Unlikely. His body was familiar with the feel of that penetration, of that intimate possession, with the way they were linked so that each felt the other’s pleasure, the other’s pain. As his master grunted his way inside, squirming and hissing, as their bodies worked together, slick and hot, as hands touched and held him, as teeth bit into his back, as nails ripped his skin, he achieved an understanding that always surprised him. Joined, slicked with each other’s come, crying out each other’s names, the dark wasn’t quite so lonely a place anymore.
End