TITLE: THY RED PLEASURE

DISCLAIMER: I own them not. JKR should get a bloody move on and write the next book so I can stop writing and start reading...

SUMMARY: Short ficlet. Severus gets the Dark Mark burned into his arm. Fun.

RATING: PG-13.

PAIRING: Nope. Well, actually, Lucius/Severus. Naughty children.

ARCHIVE: Nope.

FEEDBACK: Oooh, go on then.

A/N: "Pluck thy red pleasure from the teeth of pain." – Algernon Charles Swinburne, "In the Orchard". Yet more goodness from Sandycat's highly inspiring list of, er, inspirational stuff.

The scent of cinnamon, papaya, even a hint of cayenne pepper. You'd think they were cooking instead of casting.

"You'll love it."

The boy Severus didn't think that he'd love it. In fact, he was quite, quite sure that he didn't really want anything that smelled like that to be put on his skin… much less followed up with the white fire of the brand.

Branded. Like cattle.

And so, like anyone normal, sane, self-preserving, he struggled.

It did him no good, of course.

Lucius smiled indulgently as one might do to a disruptive toddler and took him firmly by the hand, stilling his struggles. "Don't worry," he cooed in that impossibly soft, soothing voice. His eyes were large and pale in the heavy smoke that wound itself around the room. "You're going to be just fine."

Cinnamon and papaya and the sharp scent of cayenne pepper, turning the blood a pleasing burgundy.

Blood.

"Our Lord's gift," someone whispered, and Severus knew, then. Not just blood.

Voldemort's blood.

Severus tried to struggle. He really did. He wasn't entire sure why his body wasn't obeying his commands, only that Lucius's hands felt wonderfully cool against his hot skin as they peeled back the sleeve of his jacket and offered his bare arm to the white fire of the furnace.

Dark blood and pale blood and old, old blood, but it was good blood, wasn't it? None of that Muggle rubbish here. Nothing but old, old blood in him now, screaming its way through his skin as his eyes rolled up to the back of his head. The shadows called to him, smiling, laughing, taunting.

He hadn't expected it to hurt this much. He hadn't really expected anything at all… least of all a brand seared into his arm. When he came back to himself, shock seemed the most sensible option. Severus stared down at the mark throbbing on his forearm with disbelief.

"It's… it's not real." He sounded like a child and kicked himself for the weakness shown.

Voldemort laughed and stroked a kind, gentle hand through Severus's thick hair. And Lucius, impossibly still at his side, smiled. "Of course it's real," he said, ever so sweetly and softly. "It's real because Lord Voldemort wants it to be real. You want to please our Lord, don't you?"

He didn't understand, not at all, but he desperately wanted to please… somehow. Anyhow. As long as it didn't involve any more brands or any more pain he could – Oh, but what if it did?

Voldemort had Marked him, branded him against outside interference. He was His now, the Dark Lord's child, His to do with as He wished. And if that involved pain… he could live with that. Couldn't he?

His eyesight blurred and he reached out blindly, gasping. Strong fingers caught him and curled around him reassuringly. Lucius's impossibly soft voice was in his ear again. "Don't worry, child. Everything is going to be just fine."

I know, Severus thought, and managed a smile. I know.

Lucius's lips were wonderfully cool against the base of his neck and he let himself relax, then. Things had gone well. He was Marked; he was a Death Eater. Everything had gone well. He was one of Them now.

He gave himself to the shadows and to the darkness.

fin