Pairing: Lucius/Harry & Dark Lord/Harry
Fandom: Harry Potter
Theme: #21 - violence
Disclaimer: Not mine.
“Prepare him for me, Lucius.”
Lucius bowed. “Yes, my lord.”
It was important, Lucius felt, to appreciate the finer things in life. It was the little things, the subtler details, that provide satisfaction. Like the fit of his cane in his palm, the bite of a dry red wine, and of course, the sting of pain so easily confused with pleasure.
To that end, Harry was blindfolded and bound (silk), and Lucius sipped wine (Syrah). The sheets (Egyptian) were soft, but not, Lucius discovered as he ran a finger up the boy’s bare arm, quite as soft as skin of the saviour. Almost better than the skin, Lucius decided, was the way the boy thrashed and cried obscenities and empty threats, but no tears. No, not those. Those wouldn’t do.
Lucius eyed him, fingertips lingering atop pale flesh beside torn edges of sleeve.
“Get your fucking hand off me.” Harry spat, but he was blindfolded. The gob splotched to the floor.
Lucius sighed and stroked a finger across Harry’s lips. Plump. Utterly kissable. He pulled his hand away from the boy’s darting teeth. He took another sip of wine. He savored the weight of it on his tongue before he spoke.
“Is this really the thanks you show me for making this,” he caressed the word, “pleasant?”
Another litany of curses poured from the boy’s mouth.
Lucius sighed. “If you insist.” And with a muttered spell and motion of his fingertips, the filth stopped. Lucius ran his hand down the side of Harry’s face, soothing his hand over the deliciously smooth ties of the gag. The boy thrashed.
Lucius felt sure, as he surveyed his work, that if the boy knew the picture he made, white on dark sheets, black silk around his wrists and ankles, spreading him across the bed, eyes erased behind a swath of cloth, he would be instantaneously still. As it was, not even Malfoy discipline could keep the hand from straying to caress his lengthening cock through his robes.
“My lord.” Lucius stepped from the bed. “He is ready.”
The Dark Lord stepped into the room. A slow smile spread across his face. “Excuse us, Lucius.”
Lucius strode to the door, but could not convince himself to depart. He lingered as the Dark Lord bent his unyielding body and pressed his lips to the boy’s so-pale, so-soft neck, just beside a blue vein that pulsed with panic.