Deliciously So... (Editing)

Poisoned.

“I hear you calling and it's needles and pins
I want to hurt you just to hear you screaming my name
Don't want to touch you but you're under my skin
I want to kiss you but your lips are venomous poison
You're poison running through my veins”
Poison, Alice Cooper

Lucius Malfoy Apparated moments later to the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire. Taking one angry look around the empty space, he called for one of his house-elves.

“G-good morning, m-master,” it squeaked appearing on its knees before him.

“You insolent vermin, how dare you make me wait?” he exclaimed, hitting the prostrate creature on the head with his cane.

“S-sorry, master,” it yelped in pain. “I-I wills punish myself.”

“Yes, see that you do.” he said in irritated tones. “Blinky, I have work to do. I shall be in my study and will not tolerate any form of disturbance.”

“Y-yes, master!” it said getting up slowly in order to take the wizard’s cloak and gloves once he discarded them. It was however caught by surprise when noting a swollen and red mark on his left hand. Unfortunately, when Lucius threw his garments at the cowering elf, it was still observing the mark and failed in catching one of the gloves. Squealing in terror, it chanced looking up at its master’s face and remained petrified at the anger it saw there. Closing its eyes, it tried in vain to protect itself from the frightening glare only to be thrown across the marble floor when the wizard kicked it neatly on the head. It got up shakily to kneel at his feet.

“Bad Blinky! You have greatly displeased me.” He spat.

“I-I is sorry, master; I is no-not meaning it.”

“I shall explain this in a way that even you will understand: go to the kitchens, switch on one of the ovens and when it is at its maximum heat, put your head in it.”

“Ye-yes, master. Bl-blinky will do as master asks.” It wailed, picking up the clothes with trembling fingers.

“And clean up any mess you might make; I do not want to eat anything that has been contaminated by you.”

“Yes, m-master.” It said, snapping his fingers and vanishing with a loud crack.

Servants just aren’t as they used to be… he smirked as he walked out of the entrance hall, crossed one of the many corridors lined with portraits and relics of generations past, and arrived at his study where he locked the door behind him. After sitting down at his desk, he summoned a decanter of Firewhiskey and a large glass from his drinking cabinet, poured a large amount and gulped it all down. He took in a shuddering breath as the amber liquid rasped his throat.

He looked at his still injured left hand where she had left her teeth marks, making the flesh around the bite swollen. That Mudblood dared to mark me! Me!

Instantly, he had a vision of her trembling whilst pressed against the bookcase, her face flushed, tears streaming from her eyes, and blood trickling from her lips. He smirked at the memory; she had been terrified.

But then another vision snaked into his mind… Her light touch sending jolts to his spine, her sweet tongue moving sensually in his mouth, her own warm and tasting of blood; her breasts, those voluptuous breasts, rubbing against him—

“Good God!” he exclaimed at his growing arousal. How humiliating! I cannot believe I am aroused by that Mudblood whore!

He decided to ignore the bulge in his trousers and poured himself another glass. Although after a few minutes, his discomfort had risen to such extents he could not resist any further. So, swallowing down all of his pride, he opened his trousers and gingerly removed himself from his silk black boxers. Slowly, he started to move his hand up and down his shaft.

How dare she? How dare she?! He thought as he continued to pump into his hand, panting slightly. How dared she make him want sexual gratification from the likes of her? She would pay, of that he was certain. He would make her scream; he would hurt her and break her, and he would enjoy every moment of it.

But every thought of revenge and violent desire were blown away when another image entered his mind. An image of her hands, not his, stroking him. Her soft, small hands pumping his manhood; her face only inches away from the head. His hand picked up its pace. Her opening her mouth, licking the tip with her little pink tongue—

“Oh, Circe!” he shouted as he came into his hand, his seed dripping down onto the antique carpet, while he panted, gasped for breath.

How the hell does she have this effect on me? It was quite ludicrous: he, Lucius Malfoy, a pureblood and object of desire of countless witches, affected by a Mudblood. It was just too much.

“Scourgify.” He had finished cleaning his hands and the carpet when he heard a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Severus.”

Perfect, just perfect, He thought angrily. He had to call on me now of all times! Quickly placing his still semi hard member in his trousers and straightening himself up, he raised his wand and, with a lazy flick, opened the door.

“And what brings you here, Severus?” he enquired coldly.

“Since I have been living here for over a month, my presence at your study door should not cause you so much surprise. What is so strange in my paying a visit to the lord of manor?” he replied as he entered, closing the door behind him. He noticed straightaway that his friend was troubled by something and that he had also had sought comfort with maybe a glass too many of whisky.

“What comes as a surprise is your finding enough time to visit me when you are now the most popular amidst our ranks.” he snapped.

“Oh no, not at the moment, although I must admit I am highly requested,” he sneered.

“Severus, as usual, you have called at the most inopportune of moments. Now will you kindly tell me what you want before I lose my patience?”

“The Dark Lord wants to see you tonight.”

Oh, what a delightful day! First Mudblood Granger, then Severus, the miserable bore, and now the Dark Lord.

He cleared his throat slightly. “Ahem… Pray do tell, why would he want to see me? And why must you pass on the message? Can he no longer call me with the Dark Mark?”

“From what I understood, he wants to see if you are worthy of a second chance. You know, even after your humiliating fiasco at the Ministry, he may consider forgiving you.”

What is this?! The Dark Lord would no sooner give second chances than Severus Snape would wish to adopt Potter. He quickly dismissed this thought, as it did not seem at all appropriate to laugh at his friend, though the absurdity of the image was enough to make him smile.

“When you see fit to remove that sardonic grin from your face, I will continue,” Severus drawled, quickly bringing him back to reality.

“Please, forgive the interruption.”

“As I was saying, the Dark Lord is willing to give you another chance. He sees that you are faithful, unlike your late wife Narcissa, and ever obedient. He thinks that it would be best that you return to our ranks, thus also giving aid to Draco, who seems somewhat reluctant.”

“Do you not think her stepping in front of her son as he was about to receive the Dark Mark, and being killed by our Master as a result, could have anything to do with it?”

“Possibly. Anyway, Draco seems to not want to take the Mark until he is absolutely sure. I think you should tell him that he had better hurry up. The Dark Lord’s patience is waning.”

“You seem to have forgotten to explain why the Dark Lord is willing to forgive me.”

“I imagine you want the truth?”

“If you would be so kind.”

“The truth is that you are a valuable piece on his chessboard. You were certainly of greater value before, when you had free access to the Ministry, but nevertheless you are one of the more powerful and obedient followers he has. He had thought that you may want to seek revenge for you wife’s death, however I assured him that on the contrary, you valued him more.”

“Then it appears I should thank you, Severus.” He said, inclining his head. “But what exactly must I do for him?”

“Well… apparently you, I and a few selected others have been chosen for an attack… but the rest of the details will be given by the Dark Lord himself.”

“So all I have to do is complete this mission?”

“Yes, and do try not to ruin it like last time.”

“Last time…” he started before Snape cut him short

“Last time, you were stopped by a group of six teenagers! Even Longbottom and Weasley got the upper hand on you! And you had thirteen of the strongest Death Eaters at your disposal! I could understand Granger giving you problems, but… ” he stopped at the look on his friend’s face “What in the world is wrong Lucius?! You remind me of the time your venison was under seasoned.”

Lucius’ face had started to redden with fury, but with his pale complexion, it just made his cheeks pink. “Do not worry yourself, Severus,” he retorted angrily. “You know quite well how denigrating it was: being beaten by a group of children.”

“I can imagine. And no doubt the Dark Lord will remind you of it, so hold your tongue because that horrible temper of yours always gets you into trouble. Like the time you were caught brawling in Flourish and Blotts with Arthur Weasley.” Again he stopped for his friend had started to shake.

“Are you certain you are alright?”

“Yes, yes quite alright. I might have had too much to drink. What time do you suppose the Dark Lord will call me?”

“Around nine tonight, but then again I cannot be sure.”

“Then I had better retire to my rooms: a few hours of rest will do me good.” And with that, he nodded curtly at his friend as he Disapparated out of his study, not fancying having to walk all the way to his chambers.

As soon as he got there, he went straight to his bathroom and, looking in the enormous mirror, saw that he did indeed have a face that revealed all the emotions simmering underneath: wrath, revulsion, and to his uttermost disgust, desire. He looked down at his still swollen hand before taking an small jar ointment from the cabinet and applying it to the wound. He hissed as it started to smoke. After a few seconds, the smoke had disappeared, taking the mark with it. Severus.

Turning to the bedroom, he started to undress, scattering his garments on the floor of his room. He sat down on his king-sized four-poster bed, and after removing his shoes and socks, he lay down between emerald silk sheets. He found the almost liquid feel of the material against his skin so sensual. Narcissa always used to wear silk, but certainly not to please him, merely to show herself in all her beauty and power to the lesser people. Had he ever loved her? Of course not: it had been a marriage of convenience, decided and planned by their parents. He had not objected however, and why should he have? She had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But no, there had never been love in their house. He smirked Love is money for the poor; little wonder the Weasleys have so many offspring. He could not even say he missed his wife, as her absence was just a variation of a habit: for so many years, she had been there by his side, and now she was no more.

Turning over in bed, he closed his eyes, but could find no solace from the lustful images that flooded his mind. His sleeping member became suddenly and painfully awake, much to his anger. Not being able to ignore it, he pleasured himself, wanting to get it over with, but he found himself yet again imagining it was she who was caressing him, her breasts rubbing against his body, hot, wet mouth kissing, and licking his skin… Groaning, he came for the second time in an hour thinking of her. She has poisoned me! How else could I be subject to this madness?!

But he was too exhausted to feel humiliated and drifted off immediately into an uneasy sleep, his mind becoming a prison of lascivious thoughts.