The air in the luxurious bedroom of Malfoy Manor was thick with the scent of Narcissa's refined roses. The room was a testament to the greatness or pure blood, of the superiority of wizards – unnaturally soft velvet drapes pooled on the marble floor, a four-poster bed was draped in mysteriously shimmering silks, and floating candles cast fractured light on the walls – a place just barely good enough to host the heir of Slytherin himself.

Severus stood before Voldemort, his slender frame unnaturally rigid, his thin lips pressed tight together. His black eyes, usually sharp and unpenetratable, got clouded with an emotion for a second – was it guilt, or a twisted sense of elation, it was impossible to tell – but then got cold and empty again. He stood there, knowing that Albus Dumbledore was dead and feeling the warm blood Avada had never spilt on his hands.

Voldemort, meanwhile, loomed before him, his presence both mesmerizing and terrifying. His red eyes were gleaming with such power, such raw force, it made even Severus, who was accustomed to that overpowering presence, feel small.

“You’ve done well, Severus,”  Voldemort purred, his voice a soft hiss that sent shivers down Snape’s spine. “I always knew that you would do for me what that Malfoy's cub could never accomplish."

Severus bowed his head, his black hair falling forward to shield his expression. “It was my duty, my lord,” he whispered, his tone a careful mix of pride and humility. 'Severus, please' – his memory helpfully provided. It was his duty indeed, but it didn't make it any easier.

Voldemort stepped closer, his chalk white fingers reaching out to tilt Severus' chin up. “Duty, yes,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “But also loyalty, wasn't it? You’re my most trusted advisor, my favourite servant (and you're way more fun than Bellatrix). And favourites deserve rewards.”

Snape's breath hitched as Voldemort’s hand moved down, sliding over his chest, his abdomen, before resting on his sharp hip bone. The touch was possessive, demanding, and Severus felt his resolve waver. He knew what was coming – he had anticipated it, even craved it – but the knowledge did nothing to ease the shame that coiled in his gut.

“Undress,”  Voldemort commanded, his high voice indisputable. “Let me see what I own.”

Severus' fingers trembled as he unfastened his belt, the sound of the buckle clinking against the marble floor loud in the silence. He took off his black, heavy robes, and naked, he stood before the Dark Lord, pale skin stark against the darkness of the clothes at his feet. His body was so thin it looked fragile, but there was defiance in this vulnerability.

Voldemort’s eyes raked over him, cold and appraising. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his lipless mouth curving. “So delicate, so obedient. You’re a masterpiece, Severus. My masterpiece I made out of a pathetic half-blood boy.”

Severus flinched at the words, the praise feeling like a brand. He was no masterpiece – he was a traitor, a murderer, and his exhausted body was decaying together with his shattered soul. But the Dark Lord's voice sounded as irresistible as ever, and he needed more.

Voldemort stepped closer, his body pressing against Severus’, his skin cool against the warmth of Snape’s flesh. “On your knees,” he ordered, his breath hot against Snape’s helplessly burning cheek. “Show me how loyal you are.”

Severus obeyed without hesitation, dropping to his knees on the cold marble. His knees hurt – but the walls of the room were light blue, the colour of Albus' eyes, and that hurt more.

Voldemort’s large hands gripped Severus' hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat. “You’re mine, Severus,” he hissed, his voice suddenly sounding completely inhumane. “Body and soul. Never forget that.”

Severus closed his eyes, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “Yes, my Lord,” he whispered, the words a surrender, because he was the Dark Lord's, wholly and completely now, with Albus dead and the Order dreaming to have his head nailed next to the heads of the Blacks' house elves.

Voldemort’s grip in his hair went cruel, which was a sign to act. Severus leaned forward, his hands opening the robe, his lips parting to take Voldemort’s length, his tongue swirling around the head in a slow, deliberate motion. The Dark Lord hissed, his cold body arching into the touch.

“That’s it,”  Voldemort groaned, his voice low with need. “Suck me in, Severus. Show me how much you want this.”

Snape obeyed, his mouth working feverishly, his tongue tracing every vein, every ridge. He could taste the bitterness of guilt, mingling with the weirdly humane salt of the Dark Lord's skin. He took the cock down to the root, his hooked nose pressing into Voldemort's hairless abdomen, and breathed deep to take control over his protesting throat. His nails pressed into the thin, translucent skin of his wrists, the sharp pain being welcomed.

“Good boy,” Voldemort murmured, encouraging. “So eager, so obedient. You’re perfect, Severus. My perfect little traitor.”

The word struck Snape like a blow, a surge of primal, animalistic fear of being uncovered freezing his insides, but after a horrific second, he understood Voldemort meant his betrayal of the Order. His traitorous body disagreed it's all there was, though, hard and aching and aroused despite the atrocity he committed.

Voldemort pulled away abruptly, taking the cock out with a lewd sound. “Enough,” he said, his voice strained. “Time for your reward.”

Snape looked up, his eyelashes wet with tears, his throat chafed and tired. Voldemort’s red eyes met his, red like blood, and Lily's hair under the candlelight. 

"On the bed,” he commanded.

Snape laid down promptly, the silk sheets cool against his skin, legs spread wide in invitation. The Dark Lord loomed over him, his thin body looking as frightening and inhumane as ever.

“So open, so willing,” Voldemort said, his hands tracing the lines of Snape’s waist. “Do you remember how I took you in, Severus? Young, hungry for power, desperate to be mine. You didn't change all that much, did you, my little snake?”

Severus bit his lip, letting out a quiet, needy sound. He wanted the burning stretch, the overwhelming pleasure, the heady feeling of belonging; he wanted punishment, penance for his sins, pain so intense it would erase Potter's cracking voice shouting 'Coward!' from his head.

Voldemort’s fingers settled on Severus' entrance, his powerful magic slicking it up without needing a wand or an incantation. He pressed an unnaturally long digit inside, slow and deliberate, watching as Severus’ body arched in response. 

“So tight,” he murmured, his voice amused. “You were made for this, Severus. Made to serve both as my impeccable weapon and as my little whore.”

Severus moaned, his head falling back against the pillows as he felt the burn of the penetration. Voldemort’s words were poison, sweet and deadly, and he drank them down greedily. He was made for this, it was his purpose, his penance, his reward, his duty – everything.

Voldemort added a second finger, stretching Snape further, his movements getting rougher. “You like this, don’t you?” he whispered, his snakelike face against Severus' red ear. “You like being mine, being used by me.”

Severus nodded, body trembling with need. “Yes,” he gasped, his voice coming out in a desperate whimper. “Yes, my Lord. I like it. I need it.”

He didn't even know if he was lying anymore. Voldemort’s fingers left his body, and then he felt the Dark Lord bending down on the bed – getting lower...

"Ugh!" Severus screamed in surprise and awe when he felt a slick, wet, too long to belong to a human tongue breaching his loose entrance. All the air left his lungs, and a shaky sob was torn from his lips. "Please, my- Ah, please, my Lord, need cock, need your cock, please..." he chanted, as his body was opening up torturously.

Voldemort pulled back and smiled. “Good,” he said, satisfied and perfectly controlled. “Because I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think, until you can’t even be happy you got rid of Dumbledore for me, because your brain is so full of my cock.”

With that, he positioned himself at Snape’s entrance, while Severus choked on sudden pain from Albus being mentioned. But then the Dark Lord thrust forward, hard and relentless, his length filling Severus' guts completely, and Severus cried out, his body arching off the bed, his nails digging into the sheets, and his brain going helplessly numb.

“That’s it,” Voldemort growled, his hands gripping Snape’s hips. “Take it, bitch. Just like that.”

Snape moaned, his body adjusting to the intrusion, the pleasure building slowly and the acute pain making his legs shake slightly. Voldemort moved with a rhythm that was both brutal and calculated, his body sliding against Snape's flushed skin.

“You’re mine,” Voldemort whispered, provoking a small needy whine. “Mine to use, mine to break. Say it, Severus. Say you’re mine.”

Snape’s eyes fluttered open, his clouded black gaze unfocused. “I’m yours,” he gasped. “Yours to use, yours to break.”

Voldemort’s thrusts quickened, his body moving with a frenzied urgency.

“That’s right,”  he growled. “You’re mine, Severus. My traitor, my toy, my perfect little slut.”

It should've hurt, but Snape couldn’t bring himself to care. The pleasure was overwhelming, making his abdonmed tighten with need and his untouched cock strain. He felt long-fingered hand move between his legs, nails pushing cruelly into the soft flesh of his shaking thigh, teeth pressing against the pale canvas of his neck, cock slamming into his burning insides, and he whimpered desperately, his body tensing as orgasm crashed over him.

“That’s it,” Voldemort chucked. “Cum for me, Severus. Cum for your master.”

Severus’s body shook helplessly, his eyes rolling back and his voice screaming uncontrollably, hoarse and broken and pained.

Voldemort thrust one final time, his own release spilling into Snape with a guttural groan. He collapsed on top of Severus, thin body slick with sweat, entwined with his servant's boneless, pliant form.

“You’re incredible,” Voldemort murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “My most loyal servant, my favorite toy. My little murderer.”

Severus lay beneath him, his mind not registering the words, yet still unpenetratable in a way his body wasn't. He felt spent, used, broken, but there was a strange sense of peace and finality in him, like a chapter of his life finally got finished, and there was a new one awaiting. We felt tears streaming down his cheeks, and it felt so surreal – because he killed Albus, yet somehow it wasn't the reason he cried.

Voldemort rolled off him, leaving his body all soft and opened. Red eyes met black. 

“Rest now,”  Voldemort said, his voice almost gentle, almost affectionate. “You’ve earned it.”