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Entry tags:
Kiss of Death
Pairing: No pairing. Unless you consider it to be Severus/Voldemort.
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,242
Warnings: Dark. Character death (minor, except for Voldemort)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters and their worlds belong to their original writers and no copyright infringement or offence is intended. No money was made from this story.
Summary: Every time Severus kisses someone, they end up dead.
A/N: Well, it is Anti-Valentine’s Day. With many thanks to Selkie for her very fine job as beta.
The first time it happened was after a particularly sordid meeting, and Severus had hauled a not-unattractive Death Eater outside for a quick and desperate snog. He’d put the sudden death down to a weak heart, and dropped the man in the shadows, allowing someone else to find the body.
The second time had also involved a Death Eater (which, looking back, he could not be unhappy about). They had been having a satisfactory fuck when the dolt took it into his mind to go all sappy and kiss him. The man under him had immediately ejaculated and gone limp, and all Severus could think was that the selfish bastard had allowed himself to pass out before ensuring his partner had likewise enjoyed himself. As it turned out (and to use a rather crude phrase) the idiot had ‘come and gone.’ Severus had grimaced, tidied the scene to ensure he’d left no trace other than the broad smile on his one-time lover’s face, and left.
And Severus thought.
Severus was not a man given to displays of affection. To be honest, Severus was not a man given to affection in general. Too poorly raised to easily love, and too hardened an Occlumens to show it even if he did, Severus was generally considered a cold-hearted bastard, and that wasn’t far wrong. What love he did have was held deep within the tiny vessel called his heart, and never allowed to see the light of day. His one true love had been ripped from him not once, but twice, and someone was going to pay for it. And now he had the perfect weapon.
~~~~~
St Valentine’s Day was a gaudy celebration of the weak-minded affection most seemed to pass off as love. It was a time of year that only served to etch Severus’ sneer even deeper into his face as he despised all of the cretins that fluttered about him knowing nothing of the pain and horror that was love. If he had his way, all of them would be pinned to the wall with blunt daggers, their eyelids held open as they watched their ‘true loves’ declare themselves ever the beloved footstool of their worst enemy, and fornicated on their most preciously-held dreams.
Not that he was bitter at all.
It was also the time of one of the Dark Lord’s more sarcastic celebrations. Bellatrix had decorated their current lodgings in streamers still dripping with someone’s blood (thus a vivid and suitable red) and with (real, and he wasn’t sure they weren’t human) hearts strung up around the room. The plan had been to capture some celebrating Muggles and use them for the festivities (how gauche) while various Death Eaters proclaimed their unending loyalty to His Unholiness, the Dark Lord.
But Severus had a plan.
And probably a life-span now measured in mere hours, but he was content with that. After all, someone did have to pay. And it was always good to clear ones debts. Severus was conscientious like that.
Severus had gone to extraordinary lengths tonight. He had washed, and scrubbed, and even gone so far as to purchase a sparkling (well, not really) new robe for the occasion. Black, of course; that was a given. And he had taken the unusual step of rolling back his sleeve to ‘proudly’ display his Dark Mark. No one was to be allowed to doubt his care for and loyalty to the Dark Lord. Even his hair was clean for once, and fell back from his forehead in a glowing, dark sheet.
He was ready.
Severus threw open the door, and strode into the meeting with his head held high and his shoulders back. He walked right up to Voldemort and bowed humbly enough before him. “My Lord,” he began, allowing his voice to carry to the far reaches of the room, “long have I been entranced by the Dark Arts, and there is none so wickedly excellent in the Dark Arts than yourself, the Dark Lord. I find my soul enraptured by your presence and your very self, and now wish to desecrate this Day in the most abasing of fashions.”
“Really?” Voldemort smirked. “And how do you wish to do that?”
Severus lifted his head, and felt the faintest of blushes crawl across his face. “It is not unknown, my Lord, that I have no use for women, and their paltry femininity. I believe it is also not unknown that I have a preference for the hardness of a man, and I can think of no harder or greater man than yourself. I submit myself to you, my Lord, and wish that all may see your command of my body.”
“And what if I do not wish to use your body?” Voldemort enquired, though no one missed the lazy crawl of his eyes up and down Severus’ body.
“Then all I ask is that I might serve you with one kiss, my Lord,” Severus begged with suitable (if incredibly falsified) humility.
Voldemort rolled his eyes, and huffed a sigh as pretend as Severus’ humility. “Oh, very well: come, my servant, and tempt me with your talented mouth.”
So close; Severus was so close to his goal that he could not allow himself to falter. He drew close to his serpentine Lord, and cupped his hand around the bald skull. He pressed his mouth to Voldemort’s lipless mouth, and kissed with all that he had; all of his hatred, and anger, and spite poured into the kiss, and, when the other man jerked back, he tightened his grip to keep him in place. He felt strong hands grip his arms, and still he kissed. He felt the kiss go out, oddly, like tendrils from some wicked plant, and while he heard snickers from his audience, he also heard the heavy slither of the great snake as it rushed toward them. He felt fire, and poison, and sharp, heavy things. He heard a harsh hiss, and then a sudden thud and the echo of things sharply breaking in his head, and the hands on his arm dropped limply away.
He pulled away from the body before him, and wiped his hands on his robes. Glassy eyes stared up at him, and he wondered how long it would before someone hexed him. Silence engulfed the room.
“My Lord?”
Ah, Lucius; ever the obsequious servant.
“I fear my kiss may have been too much for my Lord,” Severus offered shakily. “I shall … await his pleasure in his room,” he nodded, then turned to walk out of the great hall. He felt the weight of Bellatrix’s stare for a long moment before she turned her attention to her beloved Lord. He made it out of the room, out of the building, out from the shield of the non-apparation spell, and quickly got himself back to Hogwarts, and a startled Headmaster, where he promptly collapsed into a conveniently located chair.
“Severus?” Albus asked, reaching for his bag of lemon drops. “You look quite unwell; is there anything wrong?”
Severus looked at the old man, shock finally setting in. “I’m not sure,” he began carefully, “but I think I may have just killed the Dark Lord.”
Albus gasped; that might explain why young Harry Potter had collapsed at dinner, the scar burning itself from his forehead. He stared at the trembling man before him then offered the only comfort he could think of at the time. “Lemon drop?”
Severus gaped at the proffered candy, and began to laugh, loud and rather hysterically. But then, how else could he expect the Headmaster to respond?
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,242
Warnings: Dark. Character death (minor, except for Voldemort)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters and their worlds belong to their original writers and no copyright infringement or offence is intended. No money was made from this story.
Summary: Every time Severus kisses someone, they end up dead.
A/N: Well, it is Anti-Valentine’s Day. With many thanks to Selkie for her very fine job as beta.
The first time it happened was after a particularly sordid meeting, and Severus had hauled a not-unattractive Death Eater outside for a quick and desperate snog. He’d put the sudden death down to a weak heart, and dropped the man in the shadows, allowing someone else to find the body.
The second time had also involved a Death Eater (which, looking back, he could not be unhappy about). They had been having a satisfactory fuck when the dolt took it into his mind to go all sappy and kiss him. The man under him had immediately ejaculated and gone limp, and all Severus could think was that the selfish bastard had allowed himself to pass out before ensuring his partner had likewise enjoyed himself. As it turned out (and to use a rather crude phrase) the idiot had ‘come and gone.’ Severus had grimaced, tidied the scene to ensure he’d left no trace other than the broad smile on his one-time lover’s face, and left.
And Severus thought.
Severus was not a man given to displays of affection. To be honest, Severus was not a man given to affection in general. Too poorly raised to easily love, and too hardened an Occlumens to show it even if he did, Severus was generally considered a cold-hearted bastard, and that wasn’t far wrong. What love he did have was held deep within the tiny vessel called his heart, and never allowed to see the light of day. His one true love had been ripped from him not once, but twice, and someone was going to pay for it. And now he had the perfect weapon.
St Valentine’s Day was a gaudy celebration of the weak-minded affection most seemed to pass off as love. It was a time of year that only served to etch Severus’ sneer even deeper into his face as he despised all of the cretins that fluttered about him knowing nothing of the pain and horror that was love. If he had his way, all of them would be pinned to the wall with blunt daggers, their eyelids held open as they watched their ‘true loves’ declare themselves ever the beloved footstool of their worst enemy, and fornicated on their most preciously-held dreams.
Not that he was bitter at all.
It was also the time of one of the Dark Lord’s more sarcastic celebrations. Bellatrix had decorated their current lodgings in streamers still dripping with someone’s blood (thus a vivid and suitable red) and with (real, and he wasn’t sure they weren’t human) hearts strung up around the room. The plan had been to capture some celebrating Muggles and use them for the festivities (how gauche) while various Death Eaters proclaimed their unending loyalty to His Unholiness, the Dark Lord.
But Severus had a plan.
And probably a life-span now measured in mere hours, but he was content with that. After all, someone did have to pay. And it was always good to clear ones debts. Severus was conscientious like that.
Severus had gone to extraordinary lengths tonight. He had washed, and scrubbed, and even gone so far as to purchase a sparkling (well, not really) new robe for the occasion. Black, of course; that was a given. And he had taken the unusual step of rolling back his sleeve to ‘proudly’ display his Dark Mark. No one was to be allowed to doubt his care for and loyalty to the Dark Lord. Even his hair was clean for once, and fell back from his forehead in a glowing, dark sheet.
He was ready.
Severus threw open the door, and strode into the meeting with his head held high and his shoulders back. He walked right up to Voldemort and bowed humbly enough before him. “My Lord,” he began, allowing his voice to carry to the far reaches of the room, “long have I been entranced by the Dark Arts, and there is none so wickedly excellent in the Dark Arts than yourself, the Dark Lord. I find my soul enraptured by your presence and your very self, and now wish to desecrate this Day in the most abasing of fashions.”
“Really?” Voldemort smirked. “And how do you wish to do that?”
Severus lifted his head, and felt the faintest of blushes crawl across his face. “It is not unknown, my Lord, that I have no use for women, and their paltry femininity. I believe it is also not unknown that I have a preference for the hardness of a man, and I can think of no harder or greater man than yourself. I submit myself to you, my Lord, and wish that all may see your command of my body.”
“And what if I do not wish to use your body?” Voldemort enquired, though no one missed the lazy crawl of his eyes up and down Severus’ body.
“Then all I ask is that I might serve you with one kiss, my Lord,” Severus begged with suitable (if incredibly falsified) humility.
Voldemort rolled his eyes, and huffed a sigh as pretend as Severus’ humility. “Oh, very well: come, my servant, and tempt me with your talented mouth.”
So close; Severus was so close to his goal that he could not allow himself to falter. He drew close to his serpentine Lord, and cupped his hand around the bald skull. He pressed his mouth to Voldemort’s lipless mouth, and kissed with all that he had; all of his hatred, and anger, and spite poured into the kiss, and, when the other man jerked back, he tightened his grip to keep him in place. He felt strong hands grip his arms, and still he kissed. He felt the kiss go out, oddly, like tendrils from some wicked plant, and while he heard snickers from his audience, he also heard the heavy slither of the great snake as it rushed toward them. He felt fire, and poison, and sharp, heavy things. He heard a harsh hiss, and then a sudden thud and the echo of things sharply breaking in his head, and the hands on his arm dropped limply away.
He pulled away from the body before him, and wiped his hands on his robes. Glassy eyes stared up at him, and he wondered how long it would before someone hexed him. Silence engulfed the room.
“My Lord?”
Ah, Lucius; ever the obsequious servant.
“I fear my kiss may have been too much for my Lord,” Severus offered shakily. “I shall … await his pleasure in his room,” he nodded, then turned to walk out of the great hall. He felt the weight of Bellatrix’s stare for a long moment before she turned her attention to her beloved Lord. He made it out of the room, out of the building, out from the shield of the non-apparation spell, and quickly got himself back to Hogwarts, and a startled Headmaster, where he promptly collapsed into a conveniently located chair.
“Severus?” Albus asked, reaching for his bag of lemon drops. “You look quite unwell; is there anything wrong?”
Severus looked at the old man, shock finally setting in. “I’m not sure,” he began carefully, “but I think I may have just killed the Dark Lord.”
Albus gasped; that might explain why young Harry Potter had collapsed at dinner, the scar burning itself from his forehead. He stared at the trembling man before him then offered the only comfort he could think of at the time. “Lemon drop?”
Severus gaped at the proffered candy, and began to laugh, loud and rather hysterically. But then, how else could he expect the Headmaster to respond?