In Character
Severus Snape stood at the right hand of Voldemort and peered out at the cheering crowd coldly. Theoretically, they were cheering for him, celebrating his birthday, which had been made into an International Holiday, the first sanctioned under Voldemort's regime. Severus knew better, however. He knew that most, maybe even all, were cheering only to escape punishment by one of the dozens of Death Eaters standing guard.
"You see how they love you?" Voldemort hissed close to Severus' ear. He bit down a shudder as his 'Master's' forked tongue furtively caressed his mutilated left earlobe, only one of many scars Severus had. "You see how they love their greatest hero?"
"I see," whispered Severus huskily, playing his role. Severus had spent his entire life playing one role or another, never allowing his mask to slip. Severus closed his eyes, looking on the surface as if he were experiencing the first waves of pleasure, and steeled himself before saying, "but I would much rather be in solitude, having you prove to me that you love your greatest hero much more than the common rabble."
Voldemort let out a shuddering breath, overcome by the lust which he continually mistook for love, and said, "Then I shall send these fools away instantly, and we will have our fun."
With a final, bile inducing, caress from his snake-like tongue, Voldemort disengaged himself from Severus' side and went to address the crowd. To everyone else Voldemort appeared unchanged, but Severus saw every single sign of excitement exuding from the Dark Lord. Only Bellatrix, the Dark Lord's Empress, also knew him well enough to see the changes.
The invitation to Voldemort's bed was not surprising in the least – it happened every year since the Holiday had been implemented, two decades prior. It was Voldemort's birthday present to hi, the most personal and extreme way for him to thank his 'Great Hero' for saving his life and winning the war. It was not the only time during the year that Severus shared Voldemort's bed, but it was the only time that was assured. Severus played his role perfectly, as always, and Voldemort believed to his very core that Severus enjoyed their time together even more than himself.
What Voldemort didn't know, what he must never know, was that as soon as Severus was alone he ran to his showers and scrubbed his skin raw with steel wool until he bled from almost every inch of his body.
But he never cracked in public, never let his mask slip, because of a promise that he made twenty years ago to a man he was forced to kill. He bided his time, waiting, praying to any god that would listen that a solution would come, eventually, and that his life and promise would not be in vain.