Survivors

Lucius Malfoy gave a little sigh of satisfaction when the young man's oil-slicked hands deftly worked out another knot in his tense neck muscles. God, how he'd missed this in those horrid years of imprisonment, when he'd had to make do without proper manicure, his favourite brand of shampoo, and a good-looking, well-trained male companion (no Malfoy would ever lower himself to employing the services of a common whore).

"Is this to your satisfaction, Master?" The youngster's voice was gentle, yet firm - Lucius hated the false seductiveness which one so often encountered with those of negotiable affection, and he'd showed his appreciation for this one's professionalism by actually bothering with lube during their previous activities.

"You're doing quite fine, boy. I have to say, your reputation is well deserved."

"You flatter me, Master." The hands slid lower and started working on Lucius' back, which had been troubling him ever since his time in Azkaban. "Does this ease the pain a bit?"

Lucius stiffened for a moment. "What gives you the idea that I might be in pain?"

The hands kept kneading and stroking, forcing his muscles to relax almost against his will. "I'm good at reading... expressions, Master."

Lucius was about to admonish him that he wasn't paying for having his expression read, but he had to admit that the man's knack for doing exactly what his customer wanted without having to be told had already proved highly enjoyable earlier. Besides, the pain in his back was easing under those talented hands.

"One doesn't often find this level of sophistication with members of your profession. I take it you haven't always been in this line of work?"

"Hardly, Master." The young man didn't say anything else, but kept busying himself with his customer's back. Lucius found the answer telling enough; not everyone with a stain on their record had been as successful in returning to their previous social position after the end of the war as he had been. However, this train of thought made him slightly uneasy; if this man really was a member of the losing side, it was safe to assume that his appearance was as fake as the name he'd given.

"Have we met before?" Lucius did his best to keep his voice even, but the man couldn't miss the way his muscles were tensing once more.

"Does it matter, Master?" The hands kept stroking and kneading, and Lucius relaxed again, deciding that it probably didn't. A person who had fallen so low that he had resorted to selling himself definitely posed no threat.

"Probably not. Tell me, though, do you possess any other unusual talents I should know about?"

From the sound of his voice, the man was smiling when he answered, "I'm good at surviving impossible odds, Master. Just like you."

Astonished by the impertinence of the statement, Lucius turned his head to meet the young man's eyes.

They were twinkling at him.

***

The healer gave a resigned shrug. "I'm really sorry, Mrs Malfoy; I've done everything I could."

"But - but..." Narcissa Malfoy was wringing her lily-white hands in desperation. "How can this be? Just when I thought things were finally returning to normal..."

"I'm sorry," the healer repeated, "I've checked your husband twice, and I couldn't find any physical reason for this sudden problem. However, since erectile dysfunction has sometimes been found to have been caused by traumatic experiences, do you think he might agree to seeing a psychologist?"

FIN