I had learned at a very early age that sex was power. Want, need, desire, they were all weapons that could be used by the one in control. I was not a foolish child, far from it. When I first arrived at Hogwarts, I was on the path to becoming an attractive man. My pale blond hair was already nearly brushing my shoulders, framing a face that I have oft been told was angelic in features. Full lips, good bone structure, aristocratic nose whatever that meant, smooth skin that was naturally pale, and gray eyes that were cold as slate. I was rather small for my age, not growing until my second year, gaining several inches in a matter of months. I was called pretty by the elder Slytherin as they looked at my mouth, imagining any number of activities. I was only eleven but very mature for my age. My Father had insured that my early childhood was spent learning the ways of the world, giving me the knowledge necessary to remain in control at all times. Sex was power but it was also weakness. It was never about love, that emotion a falsehood, a fairy tale, or so I believed at the time. By the end of my first term, I had power. The elder Slytherins, they wanted me, they enjoyed my mouth and I enjoyed theirs. Sex was rather pleasing, even to one as young as myself. Boys, girls, it didn't quite matter to me as long as they could be controlled, as long as they gave me the power over them.
Is it shocking to think of one at such an early age being sexual? I cringe imagining my own son living that life that I led, my teaching of him differing from that of my father. I taught my son that sex was enjoyable but not meant to be experienced by one until they were at a level of maturity to understand their actions. I did also teach him the merits of using sex as a gain of control, not wishing him to find himself being controlled by another. My son would not repeat my mistakes. No, not mistakes. That word would imply that I had regret and such a thing is unheard of for a Malfoy. I lived two years at Hogwarts using my body as a weapon, earning a place at the head of the table by the beginning of my third year. By this time, I was growing taller, filling out, becoming the man that I would one day be. I had power and control and no longer needed to exchange my mouth or hands for favors, using others for my own pleasure and enjoyment. I liked the begging, the need and aching in my partners' eyes. I was growing in more ways than one, my childish body catching up to the maturity that I possessed. At thirteen, I was already beginning to look like a man.
Third year, Welcoming Feast, bored. I felt eyes on me from the moment I entered the Hall, my full lips curving into a smug smile as I saw need and desire in various gazes that I encountered. It wasn't just the students in my own house that wanted me, something that I took advantage of whenever possible. Nothing more satisfying than seeing one of the lofty Gryffies on their knees in front of me, taking my cock and begging for my touch or having a gorgeous Ravenclaw spread her legs and do whatever I said in hopes that I would shag her. Yes, sex was definitely power. I was by no means free with my attentions, though it does sound a bit like I was, what is the word, easy when I'm thinking back upon it all these decades later. In actuality, there were very few partners in my life at this early age. I gave myself to those who could give me control, who could provide an exchange that would benefit my life. My mouth on the Prefect's cock earned me a pass to roam as I wished every evening. My tongue in a Ravenclaw's cunt exchanged for assistance in my classes. Thinking back, I had less than two dozens partners by the beginning of my third year, and I had not yet officially shagged any of them. It had only been during the summer that my own body matured to a level where such activity would be feasible. I had returned to third year intending to enjoy my newly matured body in a variety of manners, waking from countless dreams of others begging for me, shagging them and gaining their loyalty.
I take a drink of the alcohol in my glass. Whiskey, one of the few muggle products in which I find pleasure. My eyes move from the fire to look at my glass as my thoughts again turn to Severus Snape. He was even an ugly bastard at age eleven. Small and fragile and scared, though he did his best to project courage. I noticed him among the first years almost immediately, my boredom disappearing as I found myself intrigued by the unknown creature. His hair was greasy, even then, unkempt and tangled, giving him a bit of a wild look. His skin was even more pale than my own, his nose crooked and large, thin lips that were rough and cracked, circles under his eyes that gave him a bit of a haunted look. It was then, as I was deciding that this boy was one of the most unattractive that I'd ever seen, that he looked up as if he felt me watching him. I found myself drowning in his eyes, black pools that seemed endless, knowledge beyond his years. It was then, that very moment of first looking into his eyes that I knew that my life would never again be the same. He did not look away, meeting my gaze, those thin lips twisting into a sneer that I found rather arousing. He finally broke eye contact when it was his time to be sorted, moving to the front of the Hall, whatever confidence he had possessed to cause him to stare back at me fading completely as he sat down to be sorted. He was staring at the ground, snickers greeting his unkempt appearance, and I could not look away from him.
Severus Snape. He was sorted into Slytherin, earning disgusted groans from the students of my house. When he came to our table, our eyes met again. I could not understand what drew me to this child, nor do I know even now so many years later. I just know that I forced the student seated beside me to move and I gestured for Severus to sit beside me. He hesitated, just for a moment, but I noticed, seeing fear flash in those dark eyes before he reluctantly took the seat at my side. I still do not know what he feared, what he saw during those brief moments, and I don't really care. I knew that I wanted him and I always got what I wanted. He became my first friend during that year, his knowledge of the Dark Arts astounding. I learned from him, taught him, and yet he still resisted me. He would not give me control, content to be my friend during hushed conversations but never once looking at me with need or desire like so many others. He was eleven, true, but I had expected to successfully seduce him. My fourth year came and went and we remained friends. He was bloody brilliant, and I enjoyed spending time with him, even as I grew restless to have him. Stubborn greasy haired bastard. I began to tell him of my exploits during my fifth year, his third. I hoped to arouse him, to cause him to look at me as they did, wanting to see lust in those haunting black eyes whenever he looked at me.
My sixth year. He was fourteen and a little taller than myself. His hair was longer now, past his shoulders, nearly the same length as my own, oily from the potions he concocted. Still bloody brilliant but he gave his studies everything and had very little left for anything else. I had heard teasing in the hallways, angry with the students that dare say such things about my Sev. None of the Slytherin spoke against him, either fascinated by his darkness or scared of my reaction. He was my only true friend, had been since that first night when I found myself able to tell him things that no one else would understand. I would have gladly hexed any of his enemies, any of the students that made his life even more miserable, but he never spoke to me about such things. It was this year that I decided to seduce the ugly bastard. I was annoyed that he did not want me, my interest in shagging others fading as I got older. The game was fun, but I already had power and control over so many with just a smile or a casual touch that it grew dull to shag any of them. They were not my equals, they could never make me hard just from a well-placed sneer on thin lips, they could not make my cock weep just from staring at me with cold black eyes. I wanted Severus Snape, no one else.
It took me many months, the arrogant prat seeming to believe that he could resist me. I believe I would have stopped, perhaps, if I did not see the arousal in his eyes that he tried to cover whenever we were alone. He wanted me, even if he had not acknowledged that fact. I finally broke him during the spring of my sixth year, shortly after his fifteenth birthday. I had grown tired of the game, deciding to simply take what I wanted. He was unable to ignore his desire, those dark eyes staring at me silently as I knelt in front of him and pulled back his robe, taking his cock into my mouth, something I had not practiced since I had gained enough control to cause others to perform the act on me instead. He tasted wonderful, salty and warm and powerful, I could not get enough. He tried to resist, even then, but I continued sucking, my hands moving along his surprisingly well-formed arse, and then I felt it. His fingers tangling in my hair, his voice purring above me as he urged me to continue sucking him. I am quite sure that my eyes flashed with triumph at his words, but I have no way of knowing. I sucked him dry, his seed entering my mouth and spilling into my throat. It was then that I looked at him, his eyes meeting mine as I smiled at him, my tongue licking my lips and tasting stray seed that I had not swallowed. My Sev smiled at me then, a slight quirking of his thin lips, his eyes flashing with affectionate and desire and spirit. God, that was what I had wanted. I did not want him begging me, giving me complete control of him, I wanted him to fight me, to resist me, to want me even after finding pleasure.
I can easily close my eyes now and recall the feel of his hands on my body, the weight of his gangly frame as he slid against me, the feel of his greasy hair against my stomach before he took me into his mouth, the sounds he made as I shagged him, never begging but always wanting more. I was his first lover, spreading those beautiful arse cheeks and thrusting into his tight warmth. I remember his tears, licking them from his pale face after I had sent my seed deep inside his bowels. He had looked at me then, fear flashing in his eyes as he waited for my next action. I remember smiling, clearly certain it had to be the most satisfied smile of my seventeen years, and I pulled his body against mine and told him to sleep. He was the first lover that I allowed to sleep in my bed, the first that I had a repeated experience with. In the past, it was a quick shag or snog and then I'd move on. Not with Severus. We had a relationship, if you will, though we never spoke about it beyond the walls of my room. He slept with me every night following that first time. Waking in his bony arms was a feeling that I cannot describe. During my seventh and final year at Hogwarts, he became my first lover. I allowed him control of my body, the first time that I had ever given myself in such a manner. I trusted him in a way that I have never trusted another human being.
After I left Hogwarts, I became even more intrigued with Dark Magic. I was introduced to Voldemort and the rest is history. Not a pleasant history, mind you, but still history. I wanted power, control, was ambitious enough to overlook the inconsistencies in Voldemort's logic. I had never been fond of Muggles or Mudbloods, believing that pureblood wizards were in a status of their own. I had been raised with those beliefs, never having any just cause to doubt the sincerity of such things. I became a Death Eater, Severus beside me as we both received our marks. It did not turn out as I had expected, though I never spoke a word of my doubts. It had been my idea to join Voldemort, after all. I had expected something different, though even now I have no idea what. There was so much death, killing and torturing and rape, no progress really being made at all. I should have expected nothing else from a muggle-born wizard, but I had been caught up in promises of power and control and had not seen beyond my own selfishness. Severus and I continued our relationship, though we continued to keep it secret. It was something between us, though I am aware that others suspected but never dared ask such a question. I was forced into marriage, finding Narcissa to be a beautiful but cold woman. I had to have an heir, though, and she was quite suitable for such a task. After she gave birth to Draco, we agreed to live our own lives but provide him a stable environment.
Draco. My boy. The first being that I can honestly admit that I loved. From the moment he opened his eyes and I held him, things changed. I wanted a good life for him, strangely enough. I had always been very selfish, completely aware of my own self-indulgence and desires, willing to do whatever it took to insure that I got what I wanted. With Draco's birth, I reevaluated Voldemort, seeing that the wizard was not thinking very clearly, echoing thoughts that Severus had shared during our private moments together. I had made my choice, though, and could not change things. Not with a newly born son to care for and protect. Severus knew me well, though, could see the annoyance whenever Voldemort described his latest plans of death and torture, never accomplishing anything except slaughtering innocents that were not at all important to either cause. I tried to push Severus away, not wanting him to realize that I had been stupid in my choice, not wishing for him to hate me for persuading him to join the company of Voldemort. The annoying bastard wouldn't go away. I had realized early on that Severus was a bit like a puppy. If you showed him true kindness, he would be loyal for the remainder of his life. If you kicked him, struck him, tried to push him away, he would stubbornly return time and again. He remained by my side, never speaking of my attempts to force him away, never saying why he remained.
I chose him to be Draco's Godfather, knowing that there was no one else that I would trust with my son's life. It was shortly after that when I looked into Severus' black eyes and realized that he, too, no longer believed that Voldemort was worth dying for. I began to suspect that he was spying for Albus Dumbledore, though I never asked. Our times together became more passionate, more heated, rougher, neither of us wanting to leave the other at the end of the day. The War was becoming more violent, more dangerous. Voldemort had started attacking Dumbledore's followers, cursing them and torturing them, killing them. I had been working at the Ministry to gain information for the Dark Lord, not able to participate in a majority of his raids, thankfully. Severus, however, did not have that luxury. He played with his potions and attended the raids, his face becoming more haunted as the days passed by. He was growing distant, his eyes become more shadowed, seeing things that I only read about. Then, one day, it was over. Voldemort had been destroyed, a majority of his followers caught or killed. I was suspected but there was no proof. I was never a stupid man, covering my association with Voldemort in every way except for the dark mark that would never leave my arm, a youthful transgression should anyone dare question it's existence. Severus was found out to be a spy, as I had suspected, never apologizing for his choice, earning my respect for making such a difficult decision even as I hated him for not being honest with me. He took a position at Hogwarts, teaching Potions, leaving my life for the first time since he was eleven.
The years passed and I found myself waking from dreams, reaching for Sev. He was never there. I saw him in passing, those dark eyes still able to cause me to harden instantly. Even when they were full of disgust and guilt and shame, I found myself drowning in their depths. I did not approach him, knowing that it was not the time. He would come to me if he wanted to renew our relationship I was not the type to beg, not matter how desperately I ached for my former lover. I spent my time divided amongst preparing Draco for his time at Hogwarts, working with the Ministry and rising in its ranks, and keeping an ear open regarding Voldemort's supporters.
I sent Draco to Hogwarts, proud of my son even if I did not speak the words. It wasn't long after Draco went to Hogwarts that I was contacted by other former Death Eaters. It would appear that there was a movement to bring Voldemort back. While the very idea of repeating those years was a nightmare, I had no other choice but to perform whatever actions necessary. Severus would protect Draco, of what I had no doubt. It wasn't long after the murmurs began that Severus contacted me.
He wished to join the ranks again, facing me in my own home and trying to lie to me. I knew that he was a spy for Dumbledore, had no doubt that he was loyal only to the elderly wizard that had saved him, in a way. I missed him, missed his loyalty to me, missed his devotion, missed his touch, missed our conversations. After all those years, I still wanted Severus in a way that I had never wanted another. He did not look as though he had been happy in quite some time, probably before I convinced him to join Voldemort. I still had no idea what he had done or seen that had caused him to make his choice all those years ago, to cause him to betray me as he did.
I do not blame him for turning on Voldemort. Had I not had a family, I would have joined him most likely, but I did blame him for lying to me, for not being honest. We danced around each other that night, never saying what either of us wanted to say, needed to stay. I did as he requested, owing him so much more than that, bringing him back into the ranks. I had never imagined that I loved before until I was confronted with the knowledge that my life finally felt as if it made sense once Severus reentered it. Was that love? Aching for someone, wanting nothing more than to see them, to speak to them, to be with them. Willingly risking your life for someone else, as we had both done for each other so many times. I had felt as if a part of me was missing when Severus left my life, feeling complete when he came back into it.
It is all rather philosophical and I have never been a man for such fanciful thought. I missed Severus and never wanted to lose him again. We have slowly become friends again, still dancing around the feelings and attraction that has only increased over time. Draco seems to be following in my earlier footsteps, disgusted with any but Pureblood wizards, on the path that would surely lead him to follow Voldemort. I had expected more from my son, though I am to blame for his upbringing. My feelings for muggles and mudbloods are obvious to any that know me, though no one realizes that I do not hate the creatures. I feel that they have their purpose, I just prefer that purpose to not be in my vicinity whenever possible. I spoke to Severus often about Draco, worry and concern occupying my thoughts of my son. It wasn't that I wished for him to become that brat Potter's best friend or to meekly follow Dumbledore for the greater good, but I did not want him to make the stupid choice that I had made so many years ago, wanting power and control and being so ambitious that he loses part of his soul.
I want Draco to consider every possibility, to be aware that ruthless slaughter of people loses its appeal fairly quickly, that goodness of heart does actually mean something important. I should have done better when raising him, I realize now. I thought I was teaching him to accept the world around him, to form his own thoughts, to be strong and courageous, to succeed in every chosen task, and any number of other things. Rather ironic that the sadistic Death Eater wishes for his son to choose to be what might be considered a good guy, but it is the truth. There are only two people in this world that I love. Yes, I can acknowledge that the great Lucius Malfoy is weak and does care about someone other than himself. The first, of course, is Draco, my heir, my son, intelligent, handsome, cunning, full of potential to become a powerful wizard if he does not repeat the mistakes of his Father. The other, not surprisingly, is Severus, the ugly bastard that resisted me for so many years, my best friend, my lover, a part of my soul.
I look at the flames and take another drink of whiskey, no longer fighting the awareness that my feelings for Severus are love. I'm tired of fighting, truth be known. I've been existing the last decade without him, but I have not lived since he left my life. I believe he feels the same way, or else I would not be here now. Voldemort is growing stronger, unfortunately, his followers blindly obeying him without question. I am high in his ranks, trusted and loyal, but he has no idea that I made a choice when he came back. I was able to choose again, to correct errors of the past, to give my son a future he deserves. I look away from the fire as the door opens and I see my Severus. His face is unreadable, his greasy hair falling just to his shoulders, his nose even more crooked if possible, his lips chapped and thin, his tall body still too slender, a smile crossing my face as I decide that I have never seen anything quite so beautiful, finding the word amusing to use when describing Severus Snape. My eyes catch his and I find myself drowning, just like that day all those decades ago. I arch a pale brow, asking silently if he has spoken to Dumbledore regarding my situation.
I have been spying on Voldemort for the past two years, since his rise in power, trading my knowledge for peace of mind and to insure the safety of my son. Severus is the only person aware of my allegiance with Dumbledore, being the only person I trust with such knowledge. Now, though, it is time to actively join the fight, to speak to my son and tell him the truth, to assist in Voldemort's defeat. Severus nods once, his lips curving into a smirk that I know all too well. I can feel myself relax after I realize that the act is finished, that I have made the right choice finally. I have no doubt that Voldemort will be defeated, having enough knowledge from my position to assure the defeat. My son will be safe. Severus will be safe. I will be safe. That is all I care about.
I take the final drink of my whiskey as Severus enters his room, his eyes moving over my face. It is time to stop running from love, being in a position now to explore my feelings for Severus without risking my cover as Voldemort's loyal minion. I place the glass on the table and rise from the chair, my gray eyes catching his as I silently ask him if he feels the same as I do. I see that flash of fear, so familiar, before he sighs and looks away. I do not have time to feel disappointment or for my heart to break before his lips are crashing down upon mine, his hands moving beneath my robe as he pulls my body against his. I am certain that my eyes are flashing with triumph as I kiss my Severus. Wouldn't I be surprised to know that they are actually gleaming with desire and need and love? I followed Sev to his bed, our lips never breaking contact as hands move and robes are pushed to the ground. I fall back on the mattress, knowing that this is right, that we belong to each other, and, however cliché it might be, we are going to have our well-deserved happy ending. I am a Malfoy, after all, and I always get what I want.