~Beyond Your Control~
Dear Severus,
At least you waited till the weekend. I'm sure you know that these games you like to dabble in will get you in trouble if someone like Dumbledore were to catch wind of what's going on. These little threats that you enjoy so much. Calling in favors that were never earned in the first place.
Haven't seen you in awhile. What's it been, a month? Two? Three?
God Lucius, how many little fuckpets do you have working under you? Shoving dirty money up their arses until they turn a blind eye to your exploits. I must say that this one is pretty involved, even for you. Who'd you get to tamper with the records? The Weasley boy? You know, I'd bet anything that Fudge would do it for a real arse-fucking, closet faggot that he is.
But then, you'd never touch Fudge. No. You know you wouldn't enjoy it so you'd never bother.
How are things over at Hogwarts? Is Draco excelling in his studies? It's Narcissa's query, not mine. And the Potter boy, is he dead yet? It would make things so much easier, you know.
Power sits on your shoulder, purring in your ear. Drips off your fingertips like a faucet you can't shut off, pooling on the floor in acidic puddles. You don't need to give it a thought; it's just there to use.
Dumbledore won't put up with your bullshit; be thankful your son isn't as dense as the company he keeps. But everyone else, the whole blasted wizarding world. The Ministry, the justice system. Every fucking institution bows to your carefully planned whims. They always have.
Things are just smashing down by me. Cissa and I beat the Goyles at doubles badminton. It's really not difficult when they weigh so bloody much. Not exactly light on their feet, if you know what I mean.
How many times are you going do this? Whenever you need a lay, who else do you call but me. "Old Sev, he's always been good for something." What gets you off? I don't understand. Hire a prostitute, screw the serving boy like everybody else. God forbid you stick it in your wife's cunt every once in awhile. Why'd you marry her then? It had to be the money; honor was never your style. Sweet bastard baby Draco mattered less than that sweeter Black family fortune. A match made in heaven, the two of you.
I suppose you're wondering what I've done this time. Details details; they can wait. I've missed you, Severus. You should have known that the Owl Post would be bringing my warm invite sometime soon. Yes, it's been two months I believe. Two months. I threatened to cut off your potion budget the last time. Remember?
I'm trying to recall how long this has been going on. Fourteen years of teaching, taking weekend vacations to meet you in some seedy Hogsmeade motel. The only time I've ever had to hex a student was when Justin Fitch-Fletchley caught me on the way out. Those vile-tasting beans fell from his hand, skittered across the sidewalk and into the gutter.
All those secret trysts during the Dark Lord's reign, dragging your nails across my still-tender tattoo, dragging your teeth across my neck until it bled. Pain and pleasure in one secret, sinful dance.
Those hundreds and thousands of days at school. Second year against the wall of the boy's lavatory, third floor. Lupin came in to wash his hands; he wouldn't look me in the eye for three months.
I need you, Severus. More than that, I want you. Narcissa never pleasures me the way you can. Nobody ever has. Not even that Potter faggot. A good fuck but too bloody neurotic about everything. He'd go and send the sheets down to the house elves before the stains were even dry. And god he didn't melt under me the way you do.
Has it been that long? Two months is it? I never thought I'd spot a weakness in you; can't even repress your urge to fuck my brains out. To throw me down on the bed and have your way, muffling my groans with your silk sheets. Give those under the table blowjobs when I'm trying to have a conversation with Pettigrew; the sot's too blind to notice anyway. Do that thing you do with your tongue right before the Minister of Magic turns the corner of the hallway. Two months or five minutes, I still remember how it feels to have that slick, pink tip tease the base of my ear.
Do you know how sweet your body is, Severus? God, you're like this porcelain doll that you just want to throw against the wall and break open because it's so fucking beautiful.
You love to do it all yourself. Invite, coerce, undress. My arms limp at their sides, even as you push me onto the bed. Or the table. Or the floor. Or that one time when you were feeling particularly daring and you split me open across the Dark Lord's throne. Your creativity almost got us killed; I'm glad you prefer the bed, tangled in those black silk sheets, arms no longer content to stay at my sides.
Just thinking about you makes me want you even more. Right now. This minute. I want to feel that porcelain underneath my fingertips, break your stony expression, watch it shatter. God I want you.
You push me down, flat on my back. Run your hands through my hair, over my face, past my ribcage to press against my bare hips.
The sight of your naked body under me is like nothing else I've ever seen. Fucking gorgeous. Black-as-ink strands splayed against the pillow, falling against your cheek as you turn your head and breathe.
You whisper things against my neck; sweet, tainted promises that I can't hear. Your mouth moves over my shoulder, up my arm and past my wrist to kiss the palm of my hand, soft blonde hair following in its wake.
The way your body responds is priceless. The microscopic arch as I pass over your chest, the shiver that stirs when I touch the inside of your thigh.
Your hands on my waist as you press in.
Your eyes blinking back tears as you wait for the pain to recede. A dark, helpless glare peeks out from within that salty blur.
You kiss my cheek and lick the tears from my lashes.
I love watching you take me inside of you.
Your eyes catch the tiny beads of sweat that begin to form on my forehead.
I love listening to those breathy sighs.
Ears greedily devouring everything they hear.
God you're so tight. All the time. No matter how often we fuck.
You take so much.
Your nails dig into my back.
Palm pressed against my cock.
Your sweet cock.
Fuck me till I scream.
Whimper into my chest.
Fall against the bed.
And smile.
The corners of your mouth turn upwards as you pet my hair with semen-stained fingertips. Smugness has always suited you.
As of today, the Ministry has turned off your ability to use magic.
You've bribed and threatened your way through life, shutting up those who were weak and getting rid of those who were strong.
If you would like it turned back on before your lack of magic starts to become a problem, meet me at the enclosed address tomorrow at 6:00 pm.
Has it ever occurred to you, Lucius, that maybe I never needed to be threatened or bribed?
I have also provided a train ticket for your convenience.
That maybe, for once, someone was willing to comply? That maybe I liked it when you pulled me into the bathroom between classes. And maybe I've never had better sex in my life than when it was on Fudge's desk while he went to get a cup of coffee. And maybe I never understood why you ended up with Narcissa because I wanted it to be me instead.
I do hope you're familiar with this system of transportation.
I'm not the Ministry of Magic. Put your wallet and your blackmail away. Sometimes people will do what you want because they want it too.
Sometimes, power isn't necessary.
I will surely see you tomorrow then.
You know Lucius, all you ever had to do was ask.
Best regards,
L.
You had me all along.