Crucio Kiss



As a young Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy had been terrified of the Cruciatus curse. Not of casting it, of course. He rather liked casting it. He'd delighted in the inhuman screams he'd plucked from house elves and family pets; he'd relished the bitter smell of humiliation as excrement bled unbidden from the bodies. However, it was one thing to wield the magic and quite another to be subject to it. His stoic mask in place, he looked on impassively as his comrades were brought to the brink of insanity for their sins while, inside, his heart beat wild in his chest.

Too many times Lucius had felt the ice-cold chill as the Dark Lord searched him for his sins. He always hoped beyond measure that he would escape notice. He never did. When called forward, he walked into the center of the chamber, held his head high, and bore the curse as only a Malfoy could. Terror could be mastered.



"Still dressing in beggar's robes, Severus? Surely the Light can afford better for its most illustrious turncoat."

"It's rather amazing the illusions one will robe one's self in when one is left with nothing but grey sackcloth and a dank cell in Azkaban. I see you've been prepared. Good. It's time for your treatment."

"You say that with such desire. I imagine you long for these precious moments with me. Still like to see me naked? I know how you pined for me in school, how you stared at me with such reverence when I let you touch me."

Triumph danced in Lucius's eyes as Snape fisted his hands and turned to the lab table behind him.

"Not talking today, I see. Must have been a bad night in the Snape household. Perhaps you'll use our 'treatment' time, as you term it, as a chance to avenge your filthy half-blood lover. Tell me, how is young Harry faring these days? Still haven't quite figured out the components of that Nightmare Curse, have you? Tsk, tsk, old friend. You're running out of time. Insanity sets in quickly. Too much longer and you'll be feeding him with a child's spoon and changing his nappies."

Snape whirled around and strode across the room. "You will not speak of him. Is that clear?"

"Oh don't fly at me like a great menacing bat. I'm naked and restrained on this little table. Hardly much of a threat to you. Unless it's my words that are troubling you today. Hitting a bit close to home, perhaps?"

"Your words are like you. Pathetic and desperate."

"Speaking of pathetic, what shall it be today? More useless attempts at Legilimency? Perhaps a Blood Boiling potion or two? It's a sad state of affairs when you aren't permitted to torture a war prisoner properly. You must miss the freedom you had with our Lord."

"He was never worthy of being called my Lord."

"Oh but he was. I know. I was there. But enough of that. It's not a day for reminiscing. It is a day for more of your pedantic attempts at interrogation and lawful torture. What will it be? Anything new in your threadbare sack of tricks?"

Lucius's smugness faltered at Severus's broad smile. Severus never smiled.

"You'll tell me what I want to know willingly. I've something rather special planned for you today." Severus bent down close to Lucius's ear. "You're right about me watching you. It's amazing what one can learn from simply watching." He stood and held out a long green stalk with white-green leaves, covered with small stinging barbs.

Lucius's breath caught in his throat at the feel of obscuring wards snapping into place throughout the room.

"I've missed you. I wonder if I can still make you scream?"



It took several years of service before Lucius Malfoy saw the Cruciatus curse as a fixture in his life. He took pride in his ability to withstand the curse with a minimum of screaming and flopping about, unlike Goyle who always screamed like a frightened child and knocked about as if he would die at any moment. Lucius had a swagger about him as he boasted about the number of times he'd withstood the curse—a lesson for up-and-coming young Death Eaters. He disliked the pain, of course, but he could endure it. There was much to be said for endurance.



Severus snipped leaves from the long stalk and let them drop into a large jar filled with a milky liquid. Lucius thought he recognized the leaves. They looked vaguely like stinging nettles. He snorted, remembering them as a nuisance from his childhood. "If you're trying to scare me, you're not doing a very good job."

"Perhaps I'm not trying to scare you."

"Won't someone notice those wards and come running? After all, there is the International Magical Prisoner of War Concord to worry yourself with. Lots of good bedtime reading, I imagine. You need something to break up the monotony of Harry's screams and flailing limbs."

"Auror Weasley is guarding the door today." Snip. Snip. Snip. "You've been most disagreeable. No one wants to be near you anymore."

"I've never been the compliant sort. Except when it suited me, of course. It hasn't suited me in a very long time."

Snip. Snip. Snip. "Your comrades have all given in. Kissed. You'll join them soon enough. What a pitiful legacy you leave. Oh, forgive me, I'd nearly forgotten that both your son and wife are dead. Though, I must say, I've never seen Sectumsempra used with such ruthless elegance. They were almost works of art when Harry finished them off. But you knew that already."

Lucius growled deep in his throat, cut to the quick by the shame and humiliation Draco and Narcissa had heaped on him. How they had failed to avoid that half-blood menace, he'd never know.

"Let's get to the heart of it, shall we? I won't bore you with the details. It takes all of the fun out of things."

Without preamble, Severus levitated the leaves and snipped stalks and hovered them over Lucius's body. "Animato," he whispered, his expression impassive as the leaves and stalks dropped and clung to Lucius's body.

Lucius screamed as an overwhelming burn engulfed him.



When the Dark Lord was resurrected by the blood of that loathsome, despicable half-blood, Lucius himself felt reborn. From the first kiss of his Lord's Crucio, Lucius realized how much he'd missed him, missed his Lord's focused attention. As he bent and arched with the curse, he found savage pleasure that his Lord would take notice of him and show him the true measure of his benevolence.



"Oh goody. I can still make you scream."

Lucius laughed. It sounded hysterical, even to him, but he could forgive himself for his lack of decorum. The pain was incredible. He relished every burst of fire as the barbs dug and twisted in his flesh. "You're not hurting me. You don't even know the meaning of the word torture, you filthy Muggle lover."

"Tell me what I want to know."

"Where's your finesse? You're off your game, old man." The words were an effort as he writhed and panted from the pain, but worth it nonetheless. It would not do to completely lose his composure.

"Perhaps this will help change your mind."

Lucius's eyes rolled back as he felt long fingers encased in slick dragonhide gloves grasp his painfully hard cock and squeeze, forcing the stinging nettles deeper into his flesh. He arched as pain—pain almost as vicious as that wrought by his Lord—ripped through him.

"I know you want this. I know how much you miss the Dark Lord's kiss. Why Lucius, you're sweating."

Lucius's eyes snapped shut as the hand moved up and down, caressing his cock, pulling the most obscene sounds from him. Stinging nettles turned cartwheels and summersaults across his skin, trails of fiery pain following. He heard the sound of a whispered spell. The fire disappeared from his cock, only to be replaced by the cool, wet slide of Snape's tongue, lips, and mouth. Lucius cried out. He screamed, lost as he was in the haze of pleasure and pain. The nettles stung and stung and stung as Snape sucked and sucked and sucked. His screams dropped into guttural moans as he bucked his hips and begged silently for completion. It had been too long—far too long since he'd come. His lips curled into an indulgent smile. Completion was at hand.

And then it stopped.

"Get back to work," Lucius snarled as if he weren't the one naked and bound to the small examination table.

"Tell me what I want to know."

"No." Lucius bit his tongue to keep from crying out as Snape fondled his balls and squeezed his cock, all the while, the stinging nettles kept him caught in the haze of pain.

"Tell me and I'll let you come."

"No." Lucius knew he'd be disgusted with himself when the ordeal was over. Malfoys did not cry out, they did not sweat like common whores, and they most certainly never begged.

"Tell me and I'll give you a world of bliss. I can give you all the pain you need. I understand you. Just tell me."

Lucius couldn't think straight anymore. He picked his head up, intent on saying something snide. But his breathing stopped, as black eyes pierced him, searching for his sins. It was glorious. How he'd missed being the focus of such intensity. The penetrating gaze, the pain, the pleasure—it was too much. He needed to come. He had to. It had to stop. He'd go insane if it didn't stop. He'd never feel this good again if it didn't stop. "My blood. You need my blood. The curse—it's bound to me. Ahhh!" He screamed as Snape swooped down, swallowed him, and sucked him until he was on the brink of coming.

Snape pulled off just as thick ropey spurts of semen shot from Lucius, splattering him with the tang and bitterness of his humiliation.

"Finite Incantatum. Wingardium Leviosa. Locomotor Stinging Nettle."

And just like that, the stinging nettles left him and floated into the glass jar, settling into the thick milky liquid.

Snape plucked one of Lucius's hairs and conjured a knife. He pierced Lucius's side and took his blood. Lucius sneered. Pathetic. Snape had demeaned himself just so that he could save his precious Potter.

"Had I known you were that good of a whore, I wouldn't have snubbed you so long ago." The effect was rather ruined by his painful wheezing and the twitching of his over-stimulated muscles, but Lucius didn't care. He'd said the words—that was what was most important.

Snape didn't acknowledge him as he sealed the vial of Lucius's blood and slipped it into his pocket. He knocked on the door and said something to the Weasley boy. He turned back and stared at Lucius with the same penetrating gaze before he left. Lucius knew he'd be back. There were so many more secrets he could tell. He would find bliss as black eyes searched for his sins and made his body weep from the sting of his nettled kiss. This was his world now. He would make the best of it.



During the Second War, Lucius felt the sting of his Lord's whispered Crucio more than any other. There were nights when all Lucius knew—all he could feel—was the encompassing fire of his Lord's Crucio kiss. It was then that he was transformed. He begged with silence to be made an example of, to be used, to be kissed with such savagery. The Dark Lord's cold eyes focused on him to the exclusion of all others as he wielded his magic and made Lucius's body sing. The pain. The pleasure. The sweetest barb of bliss. Like a thousand stinging nettles dancing across his skin.

Fin.



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