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letterbladeI thought this next section was suffering from mild fragmentosis. But when I went to stitch up the holes, I wound up with a massive amount more than I expected. Big bunny.
There isn't actually a scene break between the previous installment and this. I thought there might be, and so I posted that much, but then the bunny took...well, not a sharp right, more like a very blunt right, but it didn't do quite what I thought it might there.
This fic has acquired its final rating. (I wasn't sure for a while whether they'd actually do full-blown smut.) NC-17 for slash, sex, bondage, D/s, and general kinkiness. But what can you expect? They're twisted little bastards. And long-winded.
*burbles* God, I've missed posting first drafts. It's not something you can get away with on FictionAlley, but it was my preferred method of posting for my other fandom, and there's a certain vicarious thrill to it that I should probably wean myself of for the sake of my readers. *sighs* It's just so hard to gestate something when nobody's read it.
Anyway. Squeal if you like it, squawk if it could be better, and bumble off if it's not your thing.
"Whatever is within my means," said Lucius at last. "But there is no hurry."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I mean to say that we can take our time choosing our course. After all, such a choice is not to be rushed. The world believes Lord Voldemort dead. We have all the time we could ask for."
"And is he?" Tom said sharply. Lucius did not meet his eyes.
"I believe some of him yet remains, of course. But where and how, nobody can say, and I am by far not the best qualified to find out. And it may be many years before he recovers. We can still do much in that time."
Let him not see through me, Lucius prayed. Let him not realize how cleverly I am manipulating him to put off the inevitable imperilment of my own position.
"I see. I do agree, it will take a considerable bit of thinking before I can guess on what plan of action would be best."
And I am his only source of information from the outside world. I must be careful. I must not let him know too much. I must not let him control me--that would destroy everything.
Because he needed time--time to decide.
"Well, then, time to talk on other matters," Lucius said lightly, shifting his walking stick. Tom looked at him darkly.
"Are you proposing that we engage in small talk, Mr. Malfoy? How unthinkable."
Lucius chuckled, and they shared it for a moment. Two powerful Dark Wizards with an uneasy relationship and deep but uncertain possibilities for power between them. Small talk would be unthinkable indeed.
"Is your time limited?" Tom asked finally.
"Not particularly. I have duties to attend to at the Ministry, but it can wait until the afternoon."
Silence again. A strange smile was tugging at the corner of Tom's mouth.
"Tell me more about the past, Mr. Malfoy. Tell me about Voldemort when he was young."
Lucius took a deep breath and shifted the walking stick again.
"I do not know the whole tale, you must understand. I was close to Voldemort, of course, but only for a few years in the early fifties, after I left Hogwarts and before he disappeared. Things were very different after he returned. He was...beyond human, in so many ways. None of the human needs were left to him, not even that of physical contact." The words fell crisp and flat from his lips; he was busy studying Tom, studying the slight shifts in his gaze, the quirk in his eyebrow. And being quietly self-satisfied for wearing a robe voluminous and heavy enough to easily conceal the stiff heat accumulating between his legs.
"But when you did know him. How much was he like me?"
"I...I hardly know where to begin such a comparison." Fiercer, stronger, five busy years more confident in the Dark Arts. Still as beautiful, but the beauty hidden under ice. No hesitation. No quarter. But Tom came so close to the Voldemort he remembered, so close, yet never quite as diabolically confident. Lucius took another breath as the memories flickered through his mind, almost as if they were projected, shadows of light and the past dancing across Tom's face. "But I can say this much. If you were the Voldemort I met in nineteen-forty-nine, I would be naked by now."
Something in Tom's eyes flinched. Oh, he knows he lost that round. To not live up to yourself...
"I see," Tom said quietly.
"If I may ask... I remember your friends at Hogwarts. Avery...Mulciber...Macnair...the Hufflepuff with the slouch, Nott I believe his name was?"
Tom narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Quite perceptive. Not many knew I associated with Macnair and Nott."
Lucius inclined his head.
"Not many were rather obsessed with you. And very few people care to notice what a firstie is paying attention to."
"Obsessed, were you?"
"I can think of no proper word for it. I held you almost in awe--the whole school did, as you must know--and, more than that, I wanted to be your friend. Were I any older it would have been sexual, but I was eleven, so it was mere admiration."
"I see," Tom said again. "And why do you ask after my friends?"
"I was wondering who you had taken pleasure with."
Silence. Tom's face went terribly blank--not closed, not slack, simply blank. The kind of look good Slytherins get when something they've relied upon is killed before their eyes. He did not need to speak for Lucius to know what he was going to say.
"None of them."
"Anybody?"
"Nobody."
"Why did you let me come here then? Did you expect simply to take me, with no experience whatsoever?"
A very long silence at that.
"Perhaps," Tom said finally.
"You were bluffing," Lucius said quietly.
Tom's expression did not change. No agreement--but no denial, and that was as good as agreement.
"And you're a virgin."
The same response. Lucius had to fight the urge to pin the boy against the wall and ravish him then and there.
"Why have you not yet had your pleasure with one of your friends, then? I know you must have been close to them."
There was a hint of hesitation in his answer. Only a hint.
"I was not comfortable with being touched. They wished to be intimate with me, yes, and I with them, but I was still not comfortable. They have overcome small barriers, but I had not yet let them complete it when I created the diary."
Ah, the mark of true confidence--to admit your weakness, especially to one who might exploit it, without hesitation or embarrassment, rather than grovelling and dissembling to hide it. He does not trust me--I trust he is not that stupid--yet he is honest simply for the sake of status. Oh, he has such power. To control that power would be intoxicating. To possess him...
"Are you ready to be touched now?" Lucius asked quietly. Tom rose suddenly; Lucius followed suit, holding his walking stick lightly in one hand.
"What do you mean?" Tom hissed.
"You know perfectly well what I mean."
"You're audacious."
"Merely practical. Someone must have touched you, eventually." They were circling each other slowly now, their bodies feigning relaxation, but their words flying fleet like spells. "Someone must have stripped you naked and bent you over a desk. It is the way things are."
"You'd dare?"
"I offer you pleasure. I offer you necessity."
"You attempt to control me. Do not think I am naive enough to ignore the difference."
"You insult me. Do not think I forget who my master is."
"You are out of control."
And it was exactly then, as Lucius' hand brushed the back of one of the chairs, that he realized he was almost sure how Tom's will controlled this reality. Recklessly, he grabbed the head of his walking stick, twisted, pulled, and whipped out his wand. Tom stood his ground.
"That won't work in here. You're out of control."
"Will it? Wilbur Arastion's theory, yes? With a hint of the Pensieve spell and advanced drawing? And connected to a single will through Incantato Imperio?"
For a moment, confusion flitted across Tom's face. Then he lunged at Lucius, reaching for his wand, trying to twist it out of his grasp, but Lucius had already hissed the words of the transference charm, because Tom's attack was all the confirmation he needed.
The theory was sound, brilliantly sound. A pocket in an intense magical field that could absorb and remanifest a person and their consciousness, a person's will made solid by the drawing out of thought into objects, and the power to delineate that reality locked to one mind only by a spell created simply to control spells. All he'd needed to do was transfer the control.
Slowly, Tom drew back, a grim set of defeat to his face.
"Brilliantly created, really," said Lucius.
"Not brilliantly enough." Bitterness in Tom's voice, even as he tried to hide it.
"So it would seem." Lucius carefully replaced his wand and turned the silver snake the tiny twist that would lock it into place, then reached out along the line of the control spell to explore what he might be able to do. He hesitated for just a second, then took action; there was a flash of yellow light and Tom stood utterly naked before him, his clothing vanished. Oh, it would have been nice to peel it off inch by inch. But that can wait for next time. "And, yes, I am out of control."
Tom froze where he stood, the pale lines of his naked body sharply delineated against the dark stone. Lucius took a sweet moment simply to study him, raking his eyes over the tall form--slenderness without delicacy, power without muscularity, lean and dark-nippled and flawless. Curse his beauty. How can he be so impossibly perfect?
Then Lucius strode the distance between them, took the side of his face in one hand, and kissed him. After only a moment, Tom parted his lips and let Lucius sear a path deep into his mouth; Lucius slid one arm down to wrap around his waist, still holding the walking stick, pulling him close, and the other behind his head, tangled in that thick black hair, holding him in the kiss. He could feel the long line of the boy's body pressed against him, the smooth muscles of his legs, a hint of hardness between them. Tom's hands rose uncertainly, hovered an inch from his shoulders as if he did not know what to do with them, then hesitated down his arms and settled there, as though he might try to wrestle his freedom, but now only stayed there with those long fingers barely touching Lucius' robe.
When Lucius finally broke the kiss and released him, Tom stepped back, a little shakily, his lips a little pinker than they had been before.
"So," he said quietly, "this is how you serve your master."
"I will not hurt you," Lucius said fervently. "I will lead you to greatness, I will give you all I can, and I will never hurt you."
"And so you do this."
"What is life unless you have abandoned yourself at least once?" Lucius murmured. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? Do you have any idea how much I want you?"
"Do you have any idea how mad you sound?"
"Yes."
Lucius reached back along the path of the control spell and there was another flash of yellow light. It cleared with a clatter of chains, and Lucius saw Tom's eyes widen with surprise. There was black leather around both of his wrists now, inky black like his hair, a shining contrast with his skin. Chains leading from cuffs to opposite walls--not taut enough to strain, of course, but enough to hold him standing there with his arms spread out like a crucifix, enough of an upwards angle to help support him.
"There," Lucius breathed. Tom yanked again at the chains, muscles straining in his arms, but slowly the realization that he was helpless spread across his face, and he fell still, resting the weight of his arms in the secure support of the very things that bound him.
"You are audacious," he hissed.
"And out of control," Lucius agreed in a purr, setting the walking stick against one chair, vanished the other, and stalking towards his captive. "And many other things." He reached out to run one hand down the side of Tom's neck, revelling in the mere presence of that sweet, bare flesh.
"Ah, but Lucius, you shouldn't be doing this. Remember whose mark you bear...?" There was a hint of desperation in Tom's voice as Lucius' hand--still gloved--ran possessively over his chest.
"Hush," Lucius murmured, drawing a finger across Tom's lips. "Will I have to gag you?"
Tom whimpered and bucked against his hand; the chains rattled fiercely. Lucius just smiled, put a hand behind Tom's head, and forced him into another deep kiss, then worked his way down his throat, scraping his teeth across the sensitive skin and revelling in the involuntary groans of pleasure that escaped the boy's lips. Oh, he is sixteen. So very uncontrolled. He trembles, he is uncomfortable, and yet he responds. But I want to make him beg for it.
Lucius slid his hands down the sides of Tom's chest, down to his hips, mapping the sleek, powerful lines of his captive's body.
"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are..." he murmured. Then, slowly, he sunk to his knees, his robes pooling on the floor. "...Master?"
Oh, that was going to confuse him. He looked up through his eyelashes, almost coyly, at Tom staring down at him, now utterly disoriented in their little game.
Then he broke that glance, leaned forward, and very deliberately blew a little breath of cold air across the head of Tom's cock. He heard his breathing hitch, a delightful little gasp that threatened to break his rigid self-control. And then he remained very still, his face inches from that cock, watching it stiffen even as he waited.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Tom asked at last, his voice slightly shaky.
"For you to ask for it." Lucius paused, stretching out the deliciously strained moments for as long as he dared. "Master." A word that had not passed his lips for years fell easily now--his domination of the boy so easily could become worship, so easily could become submission. The boundaries between wills were blurred to him, no matter how often, with so many lovers, he seemed to toe only one side of the line. So it had always been.
He did not look up. He could feel Tom's fierce stare upon him, but he did not look up. So it had always been.
"I want it," Tom said quietly, at length, trying to keep his voice level. "Will that satisfy you?"
Lucius answered simply by shifting again and enveloping Tom's cock in his mouth.
Oh, he remembered. It had been so long, but this was still so familiar. Memories...young Voldemort's fingers tangled in his hair...
The sharp, shaky gasp was all Tom, though. All untouched youth and violated virginity. Lucius ran his hands up Tom's thighs, feeling the muscles flex and twitch, up the sides of his hips. Lower back, buttocks, the tender flesh on the insides of his legs. A map of inside-out intimacy in leather gloves and heat. And, oh, he was beautiful. Even as he trembled, he almost frightened Lucius with his perfection.
Beautiful--and young and eager and terribly uncontrolled. He was almost about to come, Lucius could feel it, so he planted his hands over the boy's hips and drew back, breaking off his ministrations with the taste of pre-come on his tongue.
Tom whimpered. Lucius finally allowed himself to look up--it was hard to get a good look at his face, but he could see a flush of arousal on his cheeks, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open in ragged ecstasy and the shock of its sudden stop.
For just a moment, before Tom spoke, Lucius allowed himself to think fiercely of payback. The first time he'd met Lord Voldemort, been naked and and bound and panting before Lord Voldemort, there had been a small, sleek emerald green snake curled around his cock. Nine times it had slithered in spirals, taking him so near that brink, and nine times it had stopped and curled tightly at the base, waiting. Nine times he'd sworn loyalty, and and nine times he'd waited in burning desperation for that low hiss that would send the snake into motion again.
That arousal had been torture. That orgasm had been mind-shattering. Such was the brilliance of Voldemort.
"Please."
The single word, a ragged gasp from the chained boy, broke Lucius' thoughts, and he allowed himself a bright surge of triumph. Tom was struggling against Lucius' restraining hands, blindly seeking for his mouth, the chains rattling fiercely.
"Be still," Lucius murmured. "If I am to continue," he said, more firmly, moving back further--still on his knees--and reaching one hand to caress Tom's rear, one finger to slip into the crack and slowly move lower, lower, "it will be here."
"Please."
There isn't actually a scene break between the previous installment and this. I thought there might be, and so I posted that much, but then the bunny took...well, not a sharp right, more like a very blunt right, but it didn't do quite what I thought it might there.
This fic has acquired its final rating. (I wasn't sure for a while whether they'd actually do full-blown smut.) NC-17 for slash, sex, bondage, D/s, and general kinkiness. But what can you expect? They're twisted little bastards. And long-winded.
*burbles* God, I've missed posting first drafts. It's not something you can get away with on FictionAlley, but it was my preferred method of posting for my other fandom, and there's a certain vicarious thrill to it that I should probably wean myself of for the sake of my readers. *sighs* It's just so hard to gestate something when nobody's read it.
Anyway. Squeal if you like it, squawk if it could be better, and bumble off if it's not your thing.
Within These Pages... (4)
"Whatever is within my means," said Lucius at last. "But there is no hurry."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I mean to say that we can take our time choosing our course. After all, such a choice is not to be rushed. The world believes Lord Voldemort dead. We have all the time we could ask for."
"And is he?" Tom said sharply. Lucius did not meet his eyes.
"I believe some of him yet remains, of course. But where and how, nobody can say, and I am by far not the best qualified to find out. And it may be many years before he recovers. We can still do much in that time."
Let him not see through me, Lucius prayed. Let him not realize how cleverly I am manipulating him to put off the inevitable imperilment of my own position.
"I see. I do agree, it will take a considerable bit of thinking before I can guess on what plan of action would be best."
And I am his only source of information from the outside world. I must be careful. I must not let him know too much. I must not let him control me--that would destroy everything.
Because he needed time--time to decide.
"Well, then, time to talk on other matters," Lucius said lightly, shifting his walking stick. Tom looked at him darkly.
"Are you proposing that we engage in small talk, Mr. Malfoy? How unthinkable."
Lucius chuckled, and they shared it for a moment. Two powerful Dark Wizards with an uneasy relationship and deep but uncertain possibilities for power between them. Small talk would be unthinkable indeed.
"Is your time limited?" Tom asked finally.
"Not particularly. I have duties to attend to at the Ministry, but it can wait until the afternoon."
Silence again. A strange smile was tugging at the corner of Tom's mouth.
"Tell me more about the past, Mr. Malfoy. Tell me about Voldemort when he was young."
Lucius took a deep breath and shifted the walking stick again.
"I do not know the whole tale, you must understand. I was close to Voldemort, of course, but only for a few years in the early fifties, after I left Hogwarts and before he disappeared. Things were very different after he returned. He was...beyond human, in so many ways. None of the human needs were left to him, not even that of physical contact." The words fell crisp and flat from his lips; he was busy studying Tom, studying the slight shifts in his gaze, the quirk in his eyebrow. And being quietly self-satisfied for wearing a robe voluminous and heavy enough to easily conceal the stiff heat accumulating between his legs.
"But when you did know him. How much was he like me?"
"I...I hardly know where to begin such a comparison." Fiercer, stronger, five busy years more confident in the Dark Arts. Still as beautiful, but the beauty hidden under ice. No hesitation. No quarter. But Tom came so close to the Voldemort he remembered, so close, yet never quite as diabolically confident. Lucius took another breath as the memories flickered through his mind, almost as if they were projected, shadows of light and the past dancing across Tom's face. "But I can say this much. If you were the Voldemort I met in nineteen-forty-nine, I would be naked by now."
Something in Tom's eyes flinched. Oh, he knows he lost that round. To not live up to yourself...
"I see," Tom said quietly.
"If I may ask... I remember your friends at Hogwarts. Avery...Mulciber...Macnair...the Hufflepuff with the slouch, Nott I believe his name was?"
Tom narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Quite perceptive. Not many knew I associated with Macnair and Nott."
Lucius inclined his head.
"Not many were rather obsessed with you. And very few people care to notice what a firstie is paying attention to."
"Obsessed, were you?"
"I can think of no proper word for it. I held you almost in awe--the whole school did, as you must know--and, more than that, I wanted to be your friend. Were I any older it would have been sexual, but I was eleven, so it was mere admiration."
"I see," Tom said again. "And why do you ask after my friends?"
"I was wondering who you had taken pleasure with."
Silence. Tom's face went terribly blank--not closed, not slack, simply blank. The kind of look good Slytherins get when something they've relied upon is killed before their eyes. He did not need to speak for Lucius to know what he was going to say.
"None of them."
"Anybody?"
"Nobody."
"Why did you let me come here then? Did you expect simply to take me, with no experience whatsoever?"
A very long silence at that.
"Perhaps," Tom said finally.
"You were bluffing," Lucius said quietly.
Tom's expression did not change. No agreement--but no denial, and that was as good as agreement.
"And you're a virgin."
The same response. Lucius had to fight the urge to pin the boy against the wall and ravish him then and there.
"Why have you not yet had your pleasure with one of your friends, then? I know you must have been close to them."
There was a hint of hesitation in his answer. Only a hint.
"I was not comfortable with being touched. They wished to be intimate with me, yes, and I with them, but I was still not comfortable. They have overcome small barriers, but I had not yet let them complete it when I created the diary."
Ah, the mark of true confidence--to admit your weakness, especially to one who might exploit it, without hesitation or embarrassment, rather than grovelling and dissembling to hide it. He does not trust me--I trust he is not that stupid--yet he is honest simply for the sake of status. Oh, he has such power. To control that power would be intoxicating. To possess him...
"Are you ready to be touched now?" Lucius asked quietly. Tom rose suddenly; Lucius followed suit, holding his walking stick lightly in one hand.
"What do you mean?" Tom hissed.
"You know perfectly well what I mean."
"You're audacious."
"Merely practical. Someone must have touched you, eventually." They were circling each other slowly now, their bodies feigning relaxation, but their words flying fleet like spells. "Someone must have stripped you naked and bent you over a desk. It is the way things are."
"You'd dare?"
"I offer you pleasure. I offer you necessity."
"You attempt to control me. Do not think I am naive enough to ignore the difference."
"You insult me. Do not think I forget who my master is."
"You are out of control."
And it was exactly then, as Lucius' hand brushed the back of one of the chairs, that he realized he was almost sure how Tom's will controlled this reality. Recklessly, he grabbed the head of his walking stick, twisted, pulled, and whipped out his wand. Tom stood his ground.
"That won't work in here. You're out of control."
"Will it? Wilbur Arastion's theory, yes? With a hint of the Pensieve spell and advanced drawing? And connected to a single will through Incantato Imperio?"
For a moment, confusion flitted across Tom's face. Then he lunged at Lucius, reaching for his wand, trying to twist it out of his grasp, but Lucius had already hissed the words of the transference charm, because Tom's attack was all the confirmation he needed.
The theory was sound, brilliantly sound. A pocket in an intense magical field that could absorb and remanifest a person and their consciousness, a person's will made solid by the drawing out of thought into objects, and the power to delineate that reality locked to one mind only by a spell created simply to control spells. All he'd needed to do was transfer the control.
Slowly, Tom drew back, a grim set of defeat to his face.
"Brilliantly created, really," said Lucius.
"Not brilliantly enough." Bitterness in Tom's voice, even as he tried to hide it.
"So it would seem." Lucius carefully replaced his wand and turned the silver snake the tiny twist that would lock it into place, then reached out along the line of the control spell to explore what he might be able to do. He hesitated for just a second, then took action; there was a flash of yellow light and Tom stood utterly naked before him, his clothing vanished. Oh, it would have been nice to peel it off inch by inch. But that can wait for next time. "And, yes, I am out of control."
Tom froze where he stood, the pale lines of his naked body sharply delineated against the dark stone. Lucius took a sweet moment simply to study him, raking his eyes over the tall form--slenderness without delicacy, power without muscularity, lean and dark-nippled and flawless. Curse his beauty. How can he be so impossibly perfect?
Then Lucius strode the distance between them, took the side of his face in one hand, and kissed him. After only a moment, Tom parted his lips and let Lucius sear a path deep into his mouth; Lucius slid one arm down to wrap around his waist, still holding the walking stick, pulling him close, and the other behind his head, tangled in that thick black hair, holding him in the kiss. He could feel the long line of the boy's body pressed against him, the smooth muscles of his legs, a hint of hardness between them. Tom's hands rose uncertainly, hovered an inch from his shoulders as if he did not know what to do with them, then hesitated down his arms and settled there, as though he might try to wrestle his freedom, but now only stayed there with those long fingers barely touching Lucius' robe.
When Lucius finally broke the kiss and released him, Tom stepped back, a little shakily, his lips a little pinker than they had been before.
"So," he said quietly, "this is how you serve your master."
"I will not hurt you," Lucius said fervently. "I will lead you to greatness, I will give you all I can, and I will never hurt you."
"And so you do this."
"What is life unless you have abandoned yourself at least once?" Lucius murmured. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? Do you have any idea how much I want you?"
"Do you have any idea how mad you sound?"
"Yes."
Lucius reached back along the path of the control spell and there was another flash of yellow light. It cleared with a clatter of chains, and Lucius saw Tom's eyes widen with surprise. There was black leather around both of his wrists now, inky black like his hair, a shining contrast with his skin. Chains leading from cuffs to opposite walls--not taut enough to strain, of course, but enough to hold him standing there with his arms spread out like a crucifix, enough of an upwards angle to help support him.
"There," Lucius breathed. Tom yanked again at the chains, muscles straining in his arms, but slowly the realization that he was helpless spread across his face, and he fell still, resting the weight of his arms in the secure support of the very things that bound him.
"You are audacious," he hissed.
"And out of control," Lucius agreed in a purr, setting the walking stick against one chair, vanished the other, and stalking towards his captive. "And many other things." He reached out to run one hand down the side of Tom's neck, revelling in the mere presence of that sweet, bare flesh.
"Ah, but Lucius, you shouldn't be doing this. Remember whose mark you bear...?" There was a hint of desperation in Tom's voice as Lucius' hand--still gloved--ran possessively over his chest.
"Hush," Lucius murmured, drawing a finger across Tom's lips. "Will I have to gag you?"
Tom whimpered and bucked against his hand; the chains rattled fiercely. Lucius just smiled, put a hand behind Tom's head, and forced him into another deep kiss, then worked his way down his throat, scraping his teeth across the sensitive skin and revelling in the involuntary groans of pleasure that escaped the boy's lips. Oh, he is sixteen. So very uncontrolled. He trembles, he is uncomfortable, and yet he responds. But I want to make him beg for it.
Lucius slid his hands down the sides of Tom's chest, down to his hips, mapping the sleek, powerful lines of his captive's body.
"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are..." he murmured. Then, slowly, he sunk to his knees, his robes pooling on the floor. "...Master?"
Oh, that was going to confuse him. He looked up through his eyelashes, almost coyly, at Tom staring down at him, now utterly disoriented in their little game.
Then he broke that glance, leaned forward, and very deliberately blew a little breath of cold air across the head of Tom's cock. He heard his breathing hitch, a delightful little gasp that threatened to break his rigid self-control. And then he remained very still, his face inches from that cock, watching it stiffen even as he waited.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Tom asked at last, his voice slightly shaky.
"For you to ask for it." Lucius paused, stretching out the deliciously strained moments for as long as he dared. "Master." A word that had not passed his lips for years fell easily now--his domination of the boy so easily could become worship, so easily could become submission. The boundaries between wills were blurred to him, no matter how often, with so many lovers, he seemed to toe only one side of the line. So it had always been.
He did not look up. He could feel Tom's fierce stare upon him, but he did not look up. So it had always been.
"I want it," Tom said quietly, at length, trying to keep his voice level. "Will that satisfy you?"
Lucius answered simply by shifting again and enveloping Tom's cock in his mouth.
Oh, he remembered. It had been so long, but this was still so familiar. Memories...young Voldemort's fingers tangled in his hair...
The sharp, shaky gasp was all Tom, though. All untouched youth and violated virginity. Lucius ran his hands up Tom's thighs, feeling the muscles flex and twitch, up the sides of his hips. Lower back, buttocks, the tender flesh on the insides of his legs. A map of inside-out intimacy in leather gloves and heat. And, oh, he was beautiful. Even as he trembled, he almost frightened Lucius with his perfection.
Beautiful--and young and eager and terribly uncontrolled. He was almost about to come, Lucius could feel it, so he planted his hands over the boy's hips and drew back, breaking off his ministrations with the taste of pre-come on his tongue.
Tom whimpered. Lucius finally allowed himself to look up--it was hard to get a good look at his face, but he could see a flush of arousal on his cheeks, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open in ragged ecstasy and the shock of its sudden stop.
For just a moment, before Tom spoke, Lucius allowed himself to think fiercely of payback. The first time he'd met Lord Voldemort, been naked and and bound and panting before Lord Voldemort, there had been a small, sleek emerald green snake curled around his cock. Nine times it had slithered in spirals, taking him so near that brink, and nine times it had stopped and curled tightly at the base, waiting. Nine times he'd sworn loyalty, and and nine times he'd waited in burning desperation for that low hiss that would send the snake into motion again.
That arousal had been torture. That orgasm had been mind-shattering. Such was the brilliance of Voldemort.
"Please."
The single word, a ragged gasp from the chained boy, broke Lucius' thoughts, and he allowed himself a bright surge of triumph. Tom was struggling against Lucius' restraining hands, blindly seeking for his mouth, the chains rattling fiercely.
"Be still," Lucius murmured. "If I am to continue," he said, more firmly, moving back further--still on his knees--and reaching one hand to caress Tom's rear, one finger to slip into the crack and slowly move lower, lower, "it will be here."
"Please."
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Date: Dec. 3rd, 2002 07:04 am (UTC)Marry me.
Date: Dec. 3rd, 2002 05:57 pm (UTC)W00t!
Date: Dec. 3rd, 2002 06:23 pm (UTC)And thanks for reading! *big sappy grin*
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Date: Dec. 4th, 2002 09:48 am (UTC)I like the Lucius mindfucking with Tom, as well as... other varieties of that.
Great work. More!