This, Severus thought, his mouth curled up in a self-satisfied smile that had been known to frighten even others in Voldemort's Service, this is what power truly is.

He watched as the werewolf arched helplessly, body bending almost double, mouth open in a soundless scream. The slender, scarred form was bathed in sweat, silver flecked honey-gold hair matted to his face and neck with it. Red scratches marred pale skin, and there were discolorations along his neck, torso, and hips that would no doubt darken to deep purple bruises. Hands were clenched so tightly into fists that the nails were gouging into his own flesh, while amber eyes were wide, staring, as breath was drawn in harsh pants which almost sounded like sobs. It was music to Severus' ears.

The Cruciatus caused such physical reactions, pain arcing through a helpless body and causing it to instinctively writhe in reaction. Nerve endings were set on fire, stimulated beyond bearing. It left the victim totally at the mercy of the agony, unable to think beyond the all-consuming moment of torture. To cast the curse was to have total and complete mastery over a person, keeping them at your mercy, using their body as an instrument for one's own pleasure.

That, of course, was why the Dark Lord enjoyed casting the spell so much, raising it almost to an art form. Voldemort enjoyed the sensations it caused in his victims, enjoyed their loss of control, almost drinking the emotions it inspired in the person upon whom it was cast. Severus had seen it too many times to count, had seen the glow of satisfaction in the inhuman red eyes as they watched someone writhe and moan and scream in reaction.

Severus was well aware that his own eyes probably contained a very similar look at the moment.

Yes, such power over the feelings of someone else, stimulating their body, using it, playing it like an instrument to elicit each groan, each tormented whimper and tortured cry. Just knowing what he was making the last of the Marauder's feel at this moment was almost enough to bring the Potions Master to orgasm, totally satisfied with the results of his efforts. Forget life and death... this was ultimate power.

A few moments more, and then the werewolf threw back his head, howling, every muscle in his body clenching into rigidity before it ended, leaving him to collapse back in exhaustion. That feral howl finally did it, sending Severus over the edge, losing concentration on his task as pleasure burst over his body in a blaze of molten heat. Dark eyes gleamed as they watched Remus trembling in the aftermath, panting weakly, the amber gaze full of stunned disbelief. No, there was nothing greater than this satisfaction, nothing more glorious than this heady feeling of control.

"Merlin, Severus," Remus breathed, a smile curving his lips as he recovered from the intensity of his climax. "Are you trying to kill me?" His warm hands moved up, stroking the Potions Master's back. "That was... incredible."

On the other hand, perhaps there was something more...

Smirking with satisfaction into the blazing amber eyes, Severus reached out to stroke a damp tendril of hair away from his lover's lips, before claiming them with his own. Pulling back, he raised a dark brow. "Only incredible?"

The werewolf chuckled beneath him, wrapping his arms around the man who had him pinned to the bed, bringing their passion-dampened bodies together. "More than incredible. Wonderful. Amazing. Perfect." Another small kiss, before Remus smiled wickedly. "Let's do it again, just to make sure." Severus' dark eyes were full of an almost evil delight. "If you insist," he responded in an almost offhand tone, although his hands began to stroke the werewolf's thighs. Soon it began again, the writhing, the groans, the sensual torment, the passionate torture.

Oh, yes, the outward reactions looked the same, but the satisfaction Severus received was so much greater than any that the Dark Lord would ever know, and for a very simple reason...

Voldemort never left them begging for more.