Umbrageous

Umbrageous

He still dreamed at night of eyes the color of darkening blood, and that cruel and cold voice that slithered through his mind hissing softly, kill the spare...kill the spare...

The dreams were worse when he slept alone, and time after time he woke to find himself gripping sheets that were soaked with his sweat, and struggling to draw breath while his innards turned on him, devouring themselves from the inside out until he had to wrap an arm around his belly to still the ache.

On these nights he often went to the study, dragging thick blankets, and pillows, and curling up like a cat before the lit fireplace, or in the wing back chair, seeking to ride out the tide in a place where the essence of the master was strongest. Often he was lured to sleep by the scents of fine leather, and parchment, and good drink.

Tonight was one of those nights; only sleep had not come to claim him. He huddled beneath a soft heavy quilt and listened to the crying of the storm, watched the sputter of the flames in the grate as they received lashings of wild air that crept through the floo and the occasional fugitive raindrop.

It had been two weeks...or maybe longer since he´d seen Him. He rubbed his forehead and watched the fire. Time got away from him these days, slipped by unnoticed, unheralded by the passing of sun or moon or the changes in the air. Ordinarily, he´d not have spared a second thought to His prolonged absence, but the run in with Draco in the parlor that morning had upset his balance. He shivered and rubbed a tender spot on his throat.

Behind him the door of the study opened; he felt the air currents brush by him before the brighter light from the hall fell into the dimness, and when he heard his name a shiver zinged through his body, belly outward. Even now that voice made him want, made him crave.

He looked away from the center of a particular flame and to the man in the doorway, who smelled of outdoors and wet weather...of deep autumn, who held his silver topped cane in the palm of a hand while pulling his black gloves off by the fingers.

"Do I not get a welcome home?"

Harry unwound himself from the blankets and padded toward the figure.

Lucius Malfoy was all silver light and dark shadow, his hands were cold on Harry´s arms when they drew him near, and his clothing, cooled and dampened by the night, was slightly rough against Harry´s sensitive skin; but his lips were warm pressed against his forehead. Harry pushed his temple against the older man´s mouth, brushed it along his jaw line.

He took the gloves and the silver topped cane as they were handed to him, laid them neatly upon the table just inside the doorway and turned back to pull the silver brocaded cloak from Master Lucius´ shoulders. This he hung upon the silver coat hooks that jutted from the wall like strange growths.

He felt fingertips graze the back of his neck as the master passed, touching gently just beneath the silvered collar, making the fine hairs there rise.

A shiver passed through him and he went toward the shelves on the western wall, taking down the crystal carafe that sparkled with something deeply red, and pouring a small glass half full before turning to the desk where Master Lucius sat loosening the cravat of his fine white shirt. His eyes glittered in the dimness, shining with that same hot intensity of those in the dream. They were cool grey or silver, but they still burned.

"What is the matter?"

The voice was low and soft, infused with its usual undercurrent of intended indulgence, but there was a firmer edge, and that jolted him from his reverie, made him truly look into those eyes, and it seemed that for a moment there was warm concern...but... Harry blinked and the gaze was cool and expectant.

"He said...you weren´t coming back."

Eyebrows furrowed. "Who? Draco?"

Harry nodded and Master Lucius´ eyes narrowed, his lips thinning before regaining their usual subtle smirk. He reached out, took the tumbler from Harry´s hand and sat it on the polished desk top, then took the boy´s thin wrist, fingers wrapping about the silver band worn there, and pulled him onto his lap.

Master Lucius slipped his hands beneath the blousy white shirt Harry wore, warming his fingers on the soft skin heated by firelight and sleep, and caressing the smooth line of the ribcage with his thumbs. Harry shivered and arranged his legs more comfortably, holding onto the older man´s arms for balance. Master Lucius stroked his stomach.

"What did he say?"

Cornered in the parlor...cold hands on him, under his shirt. Hands smooth with youth, not quite as broad as those he was used to. That achingly familiar yet alien voice hissing in his ear as he was pushed against a wall.

"Father´s little whore. Left you all alone, has he?" Lips and teeth on his neck and smugness about the smile. "Perhaps I´ll ask for you, as it seems he grows tired..."Indecent hand coming to rest between his legs and he flushed hotly as he felt himself react. "Tsk, what would your master say?"

Harry made some small noise in his throat and buried his face in the soft place between the older man´s neck and shoulder, the words that left his lips were muffled by warm flesh and clothing.

"What was that?"

Harry adjusted his position and spoke softly. "I said, `just the usual.´"

"Tell me."

"He said--he said you weren´t coming back to me, and that I--I was just a worthless whore to be used and thrown away." His voice was flat and toneless but he pressed his face a little harder into Master Lucius´ neck.

The older man´s hands stroked beneath his shirt, and one came up to run through his unruly black hair, sending small tingles all over his scalp. It took him a moment to realize that there was a warm vibration in the older man´s shoulders. Master Lucius was laughing softly.

"Don´t tell me you believed him?" Slight lilt to the voice. "Harry?" The fingers tangled in his hair then, tugged until he met those eyes. His lashes were wet and he tried to blink them dry but Master Lucius raised a single hand and brushed away the tear with his thumb, trailed the pad over his cheek and lips. Harry brushed his tongue across the skin as it passed and felt the other shiver. He knew better then to question...but the words fell before he could stop them.

"Where were you, then?"

Master Lucius´ eyes were unreadable, and Harry´s breathing shook as he held himself stock-still.

"Taking care of certain affairs...a Fortress has fallen..." A faint off hand remark, and then Master Lucius cupped his hands around Harry´s face, leaning in close. "You know better, Harry...I would never discard such a...relic." A fingertip brushed the jagged scar beneath the dark fringe of his hair.

Harry shut his eyes and nodded as he felt those hands move down the front of his shirt and start on the few pearl buttons that held the linen closed. Then they were at his trousers, slipping the buttons from their loops and pulling the soft material low on his hips. He stood and let them fall. As dictated he wore no underclothing beneath his loose garments. He then allowed those hands to guide him until he knelt, straddling the master´s lap.

As Harry worked at the antiquated fastenings of Master Lucius´ clothing, he felt the man touch fingertips to the band around his throat, caress the brow of the serpent etched in the metal. Then that voice whispered soft words and Harry felt the silken coolness of lubrication swell inside him and shivered. The faint pulsation that had been growing between his legs heightened to an ache.

"What is this?" Master Lucius fingers touched his neck, just below his jaw and Harry froze. The older man leaned closer, examining the slight indentations in the pale skin. He looked at Harry´s eyes, calm, curious. "Draco did this."

Not a question.

Harry nodded anyway.

"My dragon..." Words spoken softly and almost to himself, Master Lucius´ brow furrowed again as he stroked the faint mark then paused in mid brush as his eyes cut back to Harry´s. "He did nothing else?"

Harry shook his head.

"Good, good. He shall be grateful..." and he leaned forward and pressed his own mouth to the markings, suckling and biting softly, and Harry´s knees weakened spilling him against his master´s chest, before he was lifted to perch on the edge of the desk.

Master Lucius pulled away from his neck, and his lips were full and darkened with blood, and when he spoke his voice was no longer smooth.

"You are mine and he won´t touch you again." His fingers came up, brushed against Harry´s lower lip. They´d been dipped into the tumbler that sat forgotten, and the sweet liquor seeped into his skin. The fingers were soon followed by a hot mouth and a seeking tongue that stole between his lips and caressed him thoroughly inside before slipping away.

His master´s hands left him for a moment and so did his balance, and he fell, and then they were there again, around his shoulders, lowering him gently to the desk, then on his hips pulling him close to his master´s body. The matching silvered manacles about his wrists and ankles twitched, warmed, and seemed to undulate against his skin; his arms were pulled above his head, pressed against the desk, his legs pushed apart by some force unseen, and he felt that familiar insistent pressure at his backside.

"Say it, Harry."

Swift thrust and he was filled. He arched off the desk at that invasion and a warm hand slid up his stomach to rest against his chest, the other tightened on his hip, holding him still and down as he was impaled repeatedly by slow, hard strokes.

"You are mine, Harry. Say it."

"Yours." Harry´s eyes closed and he swallowed hard. Heady sensation. Velvet brushing smooth velvet, pain and pleasure. "I´m--yours." Scorching electricity curling up and down his spine. A warm hand wrapping itself around his erection, tightening--loosening. He arched and writhed and, feeling the force on his limbs subside, reached out for a solid foundation, knocking papers and ledgers to the floor. The tumbler fell from the desk, red cascaded over the fine carpeting, and the stain spread. Still the thrusts came, hard, bordering on savage.

"Again."

"Y-yours--n-no one else-" His legs wrapped around the other man seemingly of their own will as his body was worked from both sides. Heat in his stomach, pressing down low and hard on coiled muscles. Heat and heat and sharp intrusion. Spine bowed--legs curling tighter, the pressure coiled--tightened--struck, and he fell, pulling his master with him, recognizing the flood of raw fluid heat deep inside him as he gasped into the darkness that fell before his eyes.

"Yours."

In the Master Chambers of Malfoy Manor the Boy-Who-Lived lay entwined around his Silver Lord, safely ensconced in some tender dream.

The storm still blew outside but it had lost most of its earlier ferocity and now howled meekly against the doors and shutters. Stray moonlight had found a path through the net of storm clouds and it crept through the high arched windows and into the chambers, alighting upon the curtained bed.

Lucius Malfoy lay awake watching the sleeping form curled against his chest, admiring the sweep of black eyelashes, the arch of the brows, and the jagged edges of the faded scar on the otherwise smooth forehead. It wasn´t unusual for the boy to share his bed; his time was often spent between his rooms and the more opulent chambers of his master. It gave unlimited access for the relief of Lucius baser urges, and the warmth of a body in his bed was not at all unpleasant, though he ignored the familiarity with which the boy´s legs twined with his own.

He tightened his hold on the smaller form.

He´d had his eyes on this one for a time. Were he pressed to put a specific moment to his desire he might name that first encounter in Diagon Alley, when he´d pulled him close to examine the famous scar. Truly it had been a mere excuse to lay hands on the youth. And those brilliant green eyes had stared up at him with as much unveiled malice as a child that age could possess, and what spirit...

He´d laid his plans then.

Plans that he knew might not come to fruition for years...but Lucius Malfoy was nothing, if not patient.

Then, barely two years past, on the very night his Mark had burned black as pitch, on the night he´d slipped the fermented seed of his labors into his cloak pocket as he prepared to apparate, he´d found The-Boy-Who-Lived amongst the Inner Circle.

Oh, but it was too perfect. The boy tied to the gravestone and Riddle leaning over him, taunting, daunting as some hideous creature in a fairy tale, but holding only half the power, at best. His very flesh had quivered at the sight and he´d hidden his hands in his robes for fear of giving the game away...

Lucius closed his eyes, drew air in between his teeth in a pained smile.

But the `Lord´ had seen to the destruction of that dream. Unable to stand against a mere slip of a child, the boy had escaped through the portkey, leaving the remaining Death Eaters alone with one livid dark wizard, and He alone with a trusted right-hand-man who had bided much time and given much thought to his succession.

It had been but a simple matter as the tremors had begun, radiating outward through Riddle´s emasculated body, and the Dark Lord had choked on his own air.

Corporeus Phasmatis, my Lord. A confident and placating widening of Lucius´eyes. I´ve had it made in the expectation of your return to us. The reptilian nostrils had flared and the red eyes glimmered as he drank deep of the contents.

The poisons had taken effect soon after...

Lucius stretched luxuriously beneath the bedclothes, caught the sheet as it slipped to the boys hips. On the way back up he drew single finger over the pale flank and toned abdomen, smiling as shivers followed and the boy moved unconsciously closer.

It had taken him a while longer to secure this precious element...

He´d left the task to Draco who could easily get near the boy from behind the lines of protection...but the child´s own impulsiveness had cost him, both station, and pride when he´d been revived by Lucius on the empty Hogwart´s Express.

However, Lucius pursed his lips, he had shown fortitude in the end, carrying out plans with such grace and ease that the ancestral portraits in the Grand Foyer began murmuring amongst themselves.

Lucius absently brushed a hair from Harry´s forehead.

However, the little dragon had overstepped some boundaries these last few weeks and Lucius could not let that go unpunished. Draco needed reminding of just whom it was that he answered to. He flexed his fingers against soft flesh of the boy at his side and the air around them shimmered, trembled as though electrically charged.

The boy shifted in his sleep, curling tightly against Lucius´ front and when he glanced down he saw those marvelous green eyes were open, watching him closely...and with an air of sharp lucidness about them. The boy blinked hard as though startled, and his mouth formed around the soft syllables and consonants of "Malfoy" as he reached out and touched Lucius´ face with his hand.

Lucius was imprisoned in jade, unable to move in that second. A shudder and he forced his own eyes not to leave those of the boy. He let the smirk play on his mouth and cool neutrality fill his eyes. He would not be wrought to stone by the gaze of a sleepy youth.

Harry blinked once and muttered something that would have been unintelligible to most before his eyes grew heavy lidded and he burrowed against Lucius chest, drifting into sleep once more.

Lucius watched the soft workings of the boy´s throat as he swallowed, felt his own doing the same, making up for that sudden lapse in time, the missed breaths and heartbeats. He settled back against the headboard, lips curved downward in distaste or something other.

The boy slept on and Lucius shook his head slowly, watched the moonlight filter in through the window. There were other things to think on for tomorrow, other agendas to dispatch, and the dragon´s punishment to decide. He smiled and it was sharp and seasoned with anticipation. There was no need to focus on those soft words, those...exhaustion induced murmurs.

Things would be clearer in the morning light.

Fin?