Despoiling Harry

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The characters and the situations within these fanfiction stories are not my property. They are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and others, and are used without permission; challenge to copyright is not intended and should not be construed. No profit is being made from the use of these characters and situations; these written-down imaginings are only presented in an internet forum for the interest of and consumption by the like-minded individuals who enjoy them and recognize them as unauthorized fanfiction only, and are not in any way meant to be confused with the originals NOR presented as authorized materials of these owners.

Droit Du Seigneur
by Amanuensis

Harry and Draco's wedding day. The wedding night will not be what they expected.
Pairings: Lucius/Harry (implied Harry/Draco)
Categories: Non-con, Violence
Notes: I do so enjoy writing CompleteAndUtterBastard!Lucius Malfoy. This is in response to a challenge from Wiccachic, who needed to say nothing more than "Anybody want to do anything with the idea of Droit Du Seigneur?" on the Harry/Lucius group--and I was off and running. Warnings for a wedding (I dunno, I figure that needs a sap warning), non-con, and... eh, that'd be giving it away.


"Draco-- somebody might see--"

"And if they did?" Draco pushed his husband back against the side of the fountain and this time, when he kissed him, pushed his hips into Harry's quite deliberately. Harry's response was to groan, but there was a notable absence of resistance. 

Finally Draco broke the kiss, though he didn't move away at all. Again, there was a lack of protest on Harry's part. Draco so loved to see him flushed and panting like that. 

Nuzzling the side of Harry's face, Draco said, "I've got something to tell you, Mr. Potter, hyphen, Malfoy..." 

"Oh, what's that, Mr. Malfoy, hyphen, Potter?" 

"Why, it's just this: that hyphenation thing has got to go." 

Harry snorted. "God, yes. When they introduced us that way walking into the ballroom I almost had to stop to gag. Who ever thought that was a good idea?" 

"Obviously someone rather brainless. Did they ever stop to think that it only works for one generation?" 

"So if one of our children married, say, Justin Finch-Fletchley, we'd have..." 

"Ugh. We'd have nothing. No children of mine would be allowed to date that prat." 

Harry gave him a mock-disapproving glare. "Children of yours? I don't get a say in this?" 

Draco deliberately chose a rather Slytherin tactic to get Harry to drop it. "Harry--" He leaned in and licked the spot just under Harry's ear, still staying closely pressed in order to feel the shiver that ran through his husband's body. "Between the idea of us having children and worrying about whether Finch-Fletchley would marry them, this conversation has taken a decidedly weird turn." 

"Draco. You're the one who dragged me out of our own reception to snog behind the creeping phlox. Let's not have a 'who's weirder' contest just now." 

Draco pulled his face back to a distance where he could look Harry full in the face. "Creeping phlox? You just made that up." 

"Did not. We're standing right next to it." 

"Don't believe you." 

"You could turn and look at the display placard, you moron." 

"And why should I want to do that?" He leaned in slightly. "Why should I want to look at the Malfoy gardens when you're here..." He brought his mouth closer to Harry's, but stopped just shy of the kiss, and then grinned. "...and can look at them for me?" 

Harry's mouth twisted. "Git. They're your family's gardens." 

"No, they're not," Draco almost singsonged. "They're our family's." 

He saw how Harry's _expression changed. Just a bit, but it did. "Hey, " Draco said, deliberately trying to lighten it. "No one likes their in-laws. Why should you be any more privileged?" 

A sigh. "You're right about that." 

"Good. You married me, not my father." 

"According to you, I married all of you. I'm family now, yes?" Harry said family like Draco had said creeping phlox. 

"No." Draco brought his face close again. "You're mine." 

"Your family, or--" 

"You know exactly what the hell I mean, Potter." Draco kissed him like that was the sum of arguments he had to offer. Which was fair; it was the most convincing of them. 

When the kiss ended-- and Harry was looking thoroughly convinced, and Draco wasn't able to keep from grinning, just a little-- Harry looked back in the direction of the ballroom and said, "We really should be getting back." 

"Ah, stop worrying. It's traditional for the happy couple to sneak away as soon as they can." 

"Yes, well, that's my point. If it's traditional, that means every one who knows that will see we're gone and come looking for us. Trying to catch us in the act." 


"Well, it could be Justin Finch-Fletchley who finds us, for one thing." 

"Ugh," Draco said for the second time, pretending to shudder. You're right. We'd better go back in. Put your glasses back on." 

"Oh, like that's going to hide anything. It's my mouth that's going to give us away, you git." 

"You keep calling me that and I'll do you right here by the fountain. And Finch-Fletchley and the rest can take bloody pictures if they want." 

"I think you'd like that." 

"I think you would too, you deviant." 

"Not wrong," Harry said cheerfully. 






Weasley took one hand out of his pocket, held it out, and Draco took it. The grip was firm, nearly hurting in fact, but neither was actually trying to crush any bones. Mirabile visu. 

"You hurt him and I'll have your guts for garters." 

"See, that's just like you, Weasel, no creativity. What about, You hurt him and I'll be marketing a new breakfast cereal called Mangled Malfoys, Free Fingerbone In Every Box?" 

"Yeah, well. What can I say, I'll be in too much of a blind rage for anything that elaborate." 

They were interrupted by Hermione. Draco bit back the reply he had ready. Granger, he had agreed to be civil to. 

And Harry had warned him that didn't mean just avoiding the word mudblood. 

Not that he would have used it anyway. He might find himself still thinking it once in a while, but at least it was no longer in his spoken vocabulary. 

People could change. 

"Congratulations, Draco." She kissed him on the cheek. "You don't deserve him, but then, no one does." 

"Don't you have that a little backwards? I think it's Harry you should be saying that to." For a gibe like that, he was being quite civil indeed. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Another rich blond who thinks he owns the world." 

"No, just a Slytherin who knows it's owed him. Thanks, Granger. Where's my paragon of a husband got to, anyway?" 

"I think he's over there, with Fred and George." 

More Weasleys. And Harry bitches about MY family. Yes, there he was, surrounded by more of the red-headed plague.  

"Ron," said Hermione, "I think we should get over there now. Fred and George are probably trying to feed him something ghastly and telling him it'll increase his stamina or something like that." 

"I'm on it." The Weasel headed off, a man with a mission. 

Hermione was lingering, however. Draco looked at her. "Any threats you feel the need to make, Granger?" 

She shook her head. "No. Believe it or not, I do think you've changed. And I know you're what Harry wants. Try to make each other happy." 

Draco gave a grunt which was the closest he could come to Hey, thanks for understanding. Hermione seemed to get it. She nodded, and headed after Ron. 

Draco focused on Harry. Even at this distance the freshly snogged look seemed obvious to him. Damn, he was delicious. Draco came to the conclusion that subtlety could go whistle; he was going to take Harry off to bed now if he had to pick him up and carry him over his shoulder. 

He suspected Harry would enjoy that. However much he'd protest. 


He turned at the voice. Looked up the requisite three inches to meet the speaker's eyes. "Father."  

His father, immaculate as always, not a hair out of place, smiled down at him. "You have that look. You're getting impatient to leave, aren't you?" 

Draco smiled back. It was notable that they both had the same amount of warmth in their smiles, which was not a lot. Like father, like son. "Can't fool you." 

"A blind man could see it. Not that I blame you. Wedding receptions are more for the guests than the couple: a chance to eat and drink and dance at the host's expense and yet feel supremely altruistic about it, since you're there to make the couple happy. I'd like to speak to you before you slip away." 

Oh, what now? There was no point in asking if it could wait. "I'll get Harry." 

"I wish to discuss this alone with you." 

"Why?" Draco was careful to keep any hint of challenge out of his voice. His father always managed to make him feel a rebellious child if he detected that. "Anything you want to say to me, you can say to Harry. He's my husband now." 

He was aware that there was no way to interpret the last part of that as anything but a challenge, but his father only smiled. "Yes, I once said that about your mother as well. Draco, do not be so naive as to think that marriage is an end to secrets. I wish to speak with you alone." 

Draco hated that he'd developed such a low threshold, over the years, for let-my-father-have-his-way-it's-faster. "Fine. Where?" 

"In my study. Send Harry to your suite to wait for you, why don't you, it won't take long." 

That was an idea that made sense. "All right." 

Cheered by the prospect that he'd soon be making sweaty room-trashing love with his spouse, Draco walked-- stalked, actually, back across the room to Harry and the cluster of well-wishers, setting his hand on Harry's shoulder. 

"All right, all of you," he announced, "I've decided that there's only one way to get my new husband away from this reception. I am about to give him the longest, sloppiest kiss imaginable, with lots of tongue, until all of you are yelling 'Get a room!' at us, whereupon that is exactly what we will do, and you will only have yourselves to blame." 

Sounds of gagging met this announcement, and Harry was actually blushing through his grin. Adorable. 

"Ugh, just go!" said Fred-- or George. 

"No, wait, I want to see this!" said George-- or Fred. 

Granger was smiling, gave Harry a little push on the shoulder. "Just go if you're so determined. But remember we're going to be talking about nothing but you when you're gone!" 

"Does this mean I don't get the kiss?" Harry said plaintively as he was pushed. 

Draco put his hand under Harry's chin and pulled him into a kiss, and amusingly, it was Harry who was initiating the sloppy tongue. The twins cheered; the Weasel faked being ill. Draco broke the kiss and seized Harry's arm wishing that, instead of the bowties they were wearing, there'd been a necktie he could pretend to drag Harry by. "Come on or I'll tell them all how my current pet name for you is Boy Who Lived To Have His Toes Sucked." 

"Would you stop DOING that!" Harry said over the catcalls that met that remark. "They all sound like bad Native American names, for god's sake!" 

"Too much information!" said Ron, who didn't look like he was joking. 

Leaving the jeers behind them, Harry and Draco escaped the ballroom together. But when Harry tried to kiss him just outside the doors, Draco reluctantly held him off. "I have to go speak with my father first. He wants to talk to me." 

"Now? Can't it wait?" 

Draco just looked at him. After a moment Harry sighed. "I'm starting to learn. No, nothing your father wants can wait. Is it always going to be like this, Draco?" 

"This is a small thing. Please let me pick my battles, okay?" 

Harry sighed again. "I'm not going to start on this now, anyway. Wouldn't be fair. Fine." 

Draco gave him a quick kiss on the mouth. "Go up to our suite and make yourself pretty for me, hot stuff. I'll be there in a minute." 

"Oh, I know you will be. Because I've got two words for you." He put his mouth next to his Draco's ear. "Sable bedspread." 

"Whoa. Good words. I'll be there." 


"You are OUT of your FUCKING mind." 

Distantly, feeling how his hands were trembling, Draco was realizing that it was true. One did shake with rage. 

"Why?" said his father. "Because I would want your husband? Hardly. One doesn't have to be blond to possess an ethereal sort of beauty, Draco. He's quite delicious, you know." 

Draco turned and headed towards the door. 

"Don't even think it, " his father said coolly. 

Draco turned back. "I wanted to be able to stay here, you know that? It wasn't just for you and Mother. I honestly wanted to stay under this roof because I wanted to give Harry everything. It wasn't just for me. He said he didn't care if the two of us were living on our own salaries in some lower middle-class part of muggle Britain if it meant we wouldn't have to worry about the two of you controlling our lives, but what I didn't tell him is that I wanted that even more. But I didn't tell him. I shut up because I thought about how he'd grown up with those hateful relatives of his, and how much I wanted to show him some luxury, and stay in your good graces so that I could do that. Do you know what a hateful piece of shite you are, Father? Driving us out like this now? Fuck you and everything you ever stood for. We're leaving. And I'm going to take Harry's last name for GOOD. WITHOUT the fucking hyphenation." 

The doorknob wouldn't turn. He pulled out his wand. "Alohomora!"  

Nothing happened. The door still wouldn't open. 

He turned back to his father. "Open the goddamn door!" He was furious at having to beg. Damn the anti-apparation wards on the manor. 

"Draco... I know you know I wasn't asking for your permission. Or even your approval." 

"This is SO not going to happen! I will not let you pretend that some out-of-date law--" 

"It's been evoked every generation." 

That stopped him. No fucking way. 

His father was nodding. "Your grandfather and your mother, Draco." 

Draco hadn't thought he could feel sicker. Surprise. 

"It's more than tradition. It is the right of the lord of the manor." 

"I can fucking well translate French!" Draco screamed. 

Droit du Seigneur. 

His father was going to invoke Droit du Seigneur on his spouse. On Harry. 

"But you do not seem to have grasped yet that ranting will not change things. I brought you here to make you aware of it. And give you the choice of informing Harry yourself, if you wish." 

"Tell him what? That my father is a fucking pervert like all the rest of my ancestors? Who the hell else has a rule like this? All the wizarding families? 

"All the best ones." His father had a smirk on his face. 

"You are not going to touch him," Draco spat. 

"Don't you think you should ask him first? He might not be quite so averse to the idea as you seem to think." 

"You fucker." 

"Stop speaking that way to me. Right now." His father's voice was steely. "I am the master of this house, and your father, and I will be obeyed." 

"Not his time you won't. Open the goddamn door." 

"You are a Malfoy." Before Draco could say anything to the effect of how sorry he was that was true, his father went on: "You will do your duty. And so will your husband." 

"The hell we will." 

His father had his wand in hand. "I was hoping it would not come to this." 


Harry decided not to wait for Draco when he found the champagne in their suite. He broke it open and drank a glass while he looked around the bedroom. Yes, the sable blanket had been laid out over the bed, as he'd requested. 

He hoped Draco wouldn't be long. He hadn't had much opportunity to eat at the reception, and the champagne was going to go right to his head. 

Not that that was a bad thing. 

Now, should he surprise Draco by being naked on the fur bedspread when he got there, or should he wait and give him the full effect of a formal-wear striptease? 

He fingered the bowtie and decided to wait. He liked the idea of looping it around the back of Draco's neck after he took it off, pulling him in for a kiss. 

He was on his second glass of champagne when the door clicked open. 

"There you are," he said as he turned to the door. 

And stopped. It wasn't Draco. 

Good thing he hadn't gotten undressed, then. 

"Lucius. Where's Draco?" 

Lucius Malfoy, no longer in his formal robes, didn't answer right away. But he had a look on his face that Harry didn't like. 

One of faint amusement. 

There wasn't much, truth be told, that Harry did like about his new father-in-law. Being a former Death Eater who'd bought his way free of prosecution after Voldemort's death was just the most formal of the reasons. The man was a snob, and a liar, and very very dangerous, and those were his good points. 

There was one thing only that came to mind when Harry tried to think of something he liked about Lucius Malfoy.  

That was the idea that if Draco was going to look like that in twenty years, Harry was going to be the utter envy of the wizarding world. He'd have to get a walking stick like Lucius's to beat the homewreckers away from his husband. It was bad enough as it was now. 

He had plenty of time to drop hints, over the next few years, about how he thought Draco would look intensely hot with long hair. 

But this was the father, not the son that he was talking to right now. He wasn't going to let himself get distracted that way. 

"Where's Draco, Lucius?" he repeated, not liking Lucius's silence one bit. 

"Draco and I have had a bit of a disagreement." 

Stay calm. 

He waited, refusing to play Lucius's game. 

"May I have some of that champagne?" 

"There's only two glasses." 

"That won't be a problem." 

Harry felt the fire rising in him despite his attempts to stay in control. He made himself unclench his fists as he watched Lucius pour himself champagne. 

"Draco and I had something to discuss, but it didn't go as well as I'd hoped. I'd like to have a similar conversation with you, which I hope will have a pleasanter outcome." 

Harry folded his arms. Why, oh why hadn't he obeyed his instincts when they'd told him to push Draco to spend their wedding night somewhere outside of the manor? "There won't be anything pleasant about a discussion with me if you don't tell me where Draco's gone, Lucius." 

"Gone?" Lucius sipped from the flute. "He's not gone anywhere, Harry. Is that what you're afraid of, that he's abandoned you? Hardly. He's a Malfoy. So are you, now. Malfoys always do their duty to the family." 

He'd said all this without any pause, so that Harry couldn't interrupt any one part of it. Harry suspected he'd just heard... a segue. 

He couldn't help it. He suddenly did want to know where this was going. "Do they now." 

"Yes. Of course... Draco's having a little difficulty with this one. So it's my duty to remind him of his." 

"Where is he, you--" Harry bit it back. He didn't want to call his father-in-law a bastard to his face on the same day he'd become that. (An in-law, not a bastard. The latter was hardly new.) Clearly there was a verbal sparring that was expected of him. Maybe it was even a test. "What conversation about duty did you need to have with me that can't involve Draco?" 

Lucius gave him a smile that raised both his eyebrows very slightly. Harry got the impression he'd just scored a point. 

"Do you speak any French, Harry?" 

Harry made himself shrug casually. "Crepes Suzette. Laissez-faire. Chat, chapeau. Someone once told me dandelion is actually French, but I didn't know whether to believe them." Where the fuck is Draco, you piece of merde? he thought but didn't say. 

"That's true, from dent-de-lion, tooth of the lion. Godric Gryffindor used to wear a dandelion upon his breast, did you know that?" 

"No, I didn't." Stay. Calm. 

"Yes, well, that's a small bit of history. But then, so is what we're discussing. Are you familiar with the term, 'Droit du Seigneur,' Harry? 

"No, but I'm sure you'd love to tell me." He was even smiling as he said it. 

"It's a very old custom of the aristocracy. Dates back to the times when a feudal lord had vassals who worked his lands, and he had complete power over them." 

"Oh, yes. 'Vassals.' 'Serfs.' They had a great way of getting around that nasty term slave back then, didn't they?" 

Lucius's smile was even more appreciative. Harry didn't like the idea of himself being good at this. "You have it exactly. The lord of the manor was all-powerful over those under him. He had so many privileges that 'Droit du Seigneur' is actually rather vague, since all it means is right of the lord. It was couched in that nice vaguery to keep modest sensibilities away from its specific indication." 

Don't let him lead you. Make him say it without a set-up. "Ah. Well, now I know a little more French, courtesy of you. Thank you, Lucius. Did you want to tell me where Draco is, now?" 

Lucius clicked his tongue. "My, you do learn quickly, don't you, Harry?" Harry knew he wasn't talking about French. "'Droit du Seigneur' was the right of the lord of the manor to have the wedding night with the bride of any of his vassals who were marrying. I believe it started back with the priesthood, since any children conceived by priests could be said to be directly a divine miracle. Yet over the years people admitted to themselves it had nothing to do with children, or divinity, and was all a part of that great lascivious mystery of using whatever rules you could to make sure the privileged got whatever sex they wanted." 

"Lucius." Some cold place that Harry thought had left him entirely after Voldemort's death had just reopened, and it was from there his words were emerging. "Where. The fuck. Is Draco?" 

Lucius turned towards him in a way that should have had an audible snapping sound. "Draco... is being punished for refusing to acknowledge Malfoy duty, Harry." 

Harry'd left his wand next to the champagne. Having wanted not to lose it in the pile of discarded clothing he'd anticipated. 

He took a step closer to Lucius. "Lucius. Tell me where he is right now. Now. You've seen me use Unforgivable Curses. You know I won't hesitate to use them again." 

Lucius acted as if he hadn't heard. "It hasn't ceased being a custom among the oldest wizarding families. Of course, there are no longer vassals to impose it upon. So over the years it has become limited to the children of the lord of the manor. Draco was... very put out, tonight, when I told him he couldn't use the argument of "that's ancient history" to excuse it away. 

Harry was taken off-guard momentarily. "Are you telling me... that you let your father sleep with your wife when you got married?" He didn't try to hide one ounce of his disgust. Made a point of heaping it on, actually. 

"Really, Harry, you make it sound so base. It wasn't anything so tawdry as adultery. 'Sleep with,' indeed. I should call you out for insulting Draco's mother that way." 

"But it's not a duel you want with me, is it, you fucking bastard?" Harry spat. 

"Ah. Good. I was concerned you were still missing the gist of things." 


Lucius smiled. Malevolently. "My son, the heir of the Malfoy line, is learning why it would have been better for him to come here, himself, and explain to you why the events of this evening were going to proceed differently from the way the two of you had expected." 

Harry lunged towards the table with the champagne. 

The wand wasn't there. 

He turned on Lucius with a snarl. 

Lucius didn't even bother to show Harry where he'd concealed the thing. "I trust you're not going to require any similar lessoning, Harry?" 

"The HELL I-- Goddammit, Lucius, what have you DONE with him?" 

Lucius gave an amused chuckle. "Harry, he's my son. Don't make noises like you think I've killed him and stuffed him in the boot of his prized Porsche. He's quite safe. He's just-- not enjoying himself, very much at the moment. Or rather, he-- well, I suppose that would be a bit troublesome to explain. Just let me say that he'll be very grateful when it's over." As Harry took a step forward, one that was as menacing as he could make it, Lucius continued, "Grateful to you." 

Harry stopped. 

"Oh. You. BASTARD," he hissed. 

"Since that seems to be your favorite choice of insult, and not meant as a slander on my parentage, I'll let that go," Lucius said, dry as a desert. "But yes, you did interpret that correctly. The sooner you acquiesce to your side of Malfoy family duty, the sooner I will consider Draco's punishment sufficient. We can dance about here as long as you like, but it will be Draco who will suffer for the delay. That is clear enough, yes?" 

The dungeons. Lucius had to have put his son in the dungeons. Goddammit. 

How was he going to bypass the wards down there without his wand? 

"You sick son of a BITCH. What the hell happens when I don't just lie down for you and cut your fucking heart out instead?" 

"Oh, you can try. I can show you." 

Harry lunged. 

It occurred to him that Lucius probably had his wand in an inner pocket of his vest-- or might have had his own there-- but Harry couldn't waste time struggling over that. He had to overpower the older man first. 

It took him only a moment to discover that that was not going to be nearly as easy as he'd hoped. 

Lucius hadn't even gone for his wand. When Harry lunged at him, he'd brought his hands up to meet his attacker. 

And suddenly Harry found himself forced backwards, and up against the bedroom wall. With his wrists held pinned on either side of his head. 

He couldn't move. 

He was half Lucius's age, and had been playing competitive Quidditch since he was eleven-- had been playing at almost that level as recently as that summer. And he couldn't move. 

And Lucius wasn't even breathing hard. 

And he'd used no magic. 

Harry kicked out. Lucius was prepared for it, and avoided being hurt, though it gave Harry the opportunity to push Lucius away from the wall. He followed, intending to break Lucius's grip and hit him hard, in-law niceties be fucking damned. 

But he didn't get that far. 

Lucius didn't let him break his grip. 

Instead, Harry found his steps tripped up quite quickly, so that he went to his knees, and then was pushed backwards, Lucius still gripping his forearms so that now he was in effectively the same position he'd been against the wall... except that now it had been recreated against the carpeted floor, Harry's hands on either side of his head, with Lucius Malfoy now over him. 

Momentarily stunned by the suddenness of having his head banged against the carpet, Harry was staring up at Lucius's face, and again the thought crossed his mind, Draco, in twenty years... and he even felt a betraying thrill go through him because Draco had often given him a look just like that, just prior to giving him some of their hungriest kisses together... but as he recovered himself, Harry gave himself a furious mental kick of NOT Draco! and wrenched at his wrists-- unsuccessfully, and tried to bring up a knee to do some damage, and he could at least move that much, but couldn't seem to connect with anything that hurt enough to get Lucius off of him. 

Lucius was gripping his wrists so tightly Harry could feel his fingers going numb. 

Harry was, yes, an athlete. But not a trained physical combatant, in any way beyond the obvious roughhousing fisticuffs seven years of boarding school guaranteed-- less so, having been a wizarding school, where so much had been settled at the end of a wand. 

Lucius Malfoy had obviously had no such deficiencies in his education. 

Harry, trying to ignore the voice of doubt that was creeping through his brain-- he absolutely refused to label it fear-- and hissed, "You sick bastard, how do you think you're going to get away with this?" 

"I still haven't seen that you can possibly stop me, Harry, " Lucius said, only a little strain in his voice betraying the effort it was taking to keep Harry pinned. "Oh, you mean the legal aspect of things, don't you, dear boy. I'm afraid, as I told you, this is not merely some marital tradition, like throwing rice. It is still wizarding law, under families who can claim an aristocratic bloodline. Neither you nor Draco will have any legal recourse. In fact, I will have the law on my side if you take any retribution as a result. Do you really want to start your married life as a fugitive? Is that what you'd have for Draco?" 

Draco. Always Draco. God damn the man, he knew exactly what buttons to push. "What are you doing to him, dammit?" Harry snarled, not caring the least for any of the other threats. 

"No, I don't think so. I think it's more satisfying to leave you imagining it. Rest assured, it's not very nice. And oh yes, it's time-dependent. The sooner you concede and we conclude this to our mutual satisfaction--" 


"--the sooner I'll let Draco out of... his uncomfortable situation." 

"He's your son." Harry's voice cracked on the last word. 

"And who better than his father to decide what punishment befits him for this. Now, granted, it is the boy's wedding night; I didn't want him to have his expectations completely dashed... so let's just say he won't be completely missing out on that aspect of things." 

"What the hell does THAT mean!" Harry knew Lucius wouldn't answer. Harry also suspected he had a better idea than his outburst had indicated. "You sick BASTARD!" 

"Yes, yes, you said that. Harry, let me make this clear: I am not particularly interested in tying you down and raping you. The tying you down aspect sounds delicious but I actually prefer my partners willing when they're in that position. However, I will do it, if only to show you that I will not be defied... and because I will have you that way rather than not at all." Something about the way he said that sapped something in Harry: that touch of honeyed lust underlying his threat, again, so like the tone Draco had when he murmured Harry's name. Harry tried to tell himself it was because of the way it brought the sheer inevitability of all this home to him, and not because Lucius affected him in the same way that his son did. 

Draco's nothing like you, he almost said aloud. 

But Lucius was continuing: "Also, your behavior tonight will affect how quickly I release Draco from his punishment. I am quite capable of leaving you restrained here for a day or two, and Draco in the position he is in for the same amount of time, as payment for making me take by force what you should have dutifully given. Have you ever been in a full body-bind, Harry? It's not pleasant, even less so the longer one's in it." 

Harry didn't know if Lucius was threatening him or describing part of what was happening to Draco. Not that it mattered. 

Deep inside, it was painfully sweet to know that Draco had refused to go along with this-- refused to the point that Lucius was doing something dreadful to him as punishment. Yet that also meant that the last thing Harry wanted was to give in, because... because then Draco would have gone through whatever-it-was for nothing, and... and he'd so hated the idea of this that he wouldn't want Harry to give in, either. Damn you for putting this on me, Draco! 

Oh, and you'd have liked it better if he'd come to you and said you had to go along with it? Don't put this on Draco, it's all Lucius, you stupid fucker! 

"Shall I take your silence as acquiescence?" Lucius said, arching an eyebrow. 

"The HELL." 

"Ah. So it is to be the body-bind after all. Very well." 

"No!" There-- Harry felt the pressure on his wrists slacken just that little bit, Lucius preparing to draw his wand; Harry pushed with all this strength-- 

--No. No, he hadn't been that incautious. A ruse. Harry still hadn't been able to move. Dammit. 

"Think about how terribly unpleasant rape would be under those circumstances, Harry. Conversely, I invite you to think how pleasant this night could be. You're no virgin; you know precisely what to expect. And I can be very generous to a cooperative lover." He brought his face closer. "In fact I can confidently say you won't find the night wanting at all. And I won't mind at all if you scream my son's name when you come." 

Harry could have ripped that smile right off Lucius's face. "You are such a bastard." 

"If your definition of bastard is, person who gets what he wants, then I happily answer to that epithet. What is it to be, Harry?" 

"Go fuck yourself." 

"Not one of your options. Will you submit? You will not be able to get Draco out of the situation he is in by yourself, I promise you that. You think overpowering me would be the solution, but I assure you it would not." 

Harry doubted Lucius should be so smug. He was nothing if not resourceful. But Lucius was apparently ready to render him completely helpless if he did not answer.  

He licked his lips, trying to not make it look lascivious. "Don't... don't hex me, goddamn you." He would try to buy time while he thought. 

"I should take that as a yes, then?" 

Harry tried to remember which one yes was. Will you submit.  

He couldn't bring himself to say it, even if it was just to buy time. He nodded, feeling his hair crackle with static against the carpet. 

"You don't mind if I make sure, do you?" 

Before Harry could question what he meant, Lucius bent and seized his mouth with his own. 

Harry went rigid. 

It was everything and nothing like being kissed by Draco. The taste... the taste of him was almost the same, wine on his lips tasting the same way it tasted on Draco's, melding with the essential salt-and-honey flavor that clearly was common to the male side of the Malfoy family mouths. But when Draco kissed him, his hunger for Harry's mouth always felt like a dare, a laughing demand of Answer me, Potter, and Harry always wanted to, always did, tongues duelling as if their kisses were a competition of tell-me-you-don't-want-me-just-as-much, where both of them were certain to win. 

But Lucius...Lucius kissed him like he didn't care if Harry responded or not, kissing him to show that he could, paying no attention to cues or suggestions that might occur, devouring his mouth with the attitude one would devour a meal: without caring if the meal consented to be eaten. 

Lucius kissed him like he was the victim of the kiss. 

It was overwhelming and ruthless and... not altogether a terrible experience. 

It was just too much to process, for Harry to realize he'd just been kissed breathless. 

By his father-in-law. 

Harry was dimly aware that he was breathing again, which meant that the kiss must have stopped. In fact, he was starting to get some feeling back into his hands. Which meant... 


Harry found Lucius's face above his own had receded some distance, and the closest thing to his face right now was the business end of a wand. "Get up slowly," said Lucius. 

Harry used his at-last-free hands to push himself up into a sitting position as Lucius moved from kneeling to standing, keeping the wand on him as he did. Buy time, Harry thought to himself as he rose, noting how Lucius held his wand: elbow bent, ready to move into any position necessary at the first movement of his opponent. 

Lucius gestured with his free hand. "Come here." 

Harry took a step forward; that was where he wanted to go, in any case. 

"Close enough. Hold out both your hands, palm up." 


"Because I shall body-bind you if you don't." 

Bastard. Slowly Harry lifted his hands, rotated them palm up, wondering if he should make his move now. 

"Magus Vovere." Harry had not been prepared for that abrupt pronouncement; he tried to jerk away, but light had shot from the end of Lucius's wand and circled his wrists like the coils of a snake. He couldn't even turn his hands, much less pull them away. 

"Commencus. These are the terms of this oath, Harry James Potter..." 

Oh, no. Wizard's Vow.  

Harry had never learned this one, but some memory of its mention was returning to him. Fuck. He should have moved, he should have moved... 

"...You will submit to me, here in these rooms, for the duration of the hours of darkness, and in the context of whatever sexual pleasure I desire, including those that require your active participation. No action or inaction of yours may occur that is designed to result in your flight from this room, any harm to be done to me, or an attempt to break the vow. Failure to abide will automatically invoke the spell set upon this oath." 

And that is? Harry tried to say. But he couldn't. It was as if his choice of spoken vocabulary had been reduced to two possibilities; he could feel the words Accepted and Denied in his mouth like pebbles, his mouth able to accommodate the shape of either, yet too full with those to create any other word. 

"I, the caster, decree that spell will be Petrificus Totalis. Terms of the vow are now set. What say you?" 

He couldn't pull away. The spell held him; he could say Denied and it would all break, he knew it, but Lucius wasn't going to give him another chance. This was it. 


Draco undergoing who knew what perverted torture in the dungeons. 


Because he hadn't wanted Harry to do this. 


...To have to do this. 


Rape under a full body-bind. 


By Draco's father. 


"Accepted." FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK. 

The light faded; the grip about his wrists was gone. Harry looked up at Lucius. 

"Why are--" 

Harry stopped himself. He'd been going to ask, why are you doing this to us, ask if Lucius so hated the idea of his son marrying-- god, where to start, a non-pureblood, a man, a Gryffindor, an enemy of those Lucius had once served, Harry knew every one of those had come up between Draco and his father, despite the fact that Draco had carefully told him none of it, and Lucius himself had kept up a pretend facade of indifference-- no point in discussing it with the peasant half-mudblood. 

Did he hate this so much that he would try to drive them apart this way? 

But he'd stopped himself from completing the question because he knew the truth. It was the same thing with the kiss.  

Lucius was doing this because he could. 

Lucius smiled at Harry, as though he could hear every bit of his internal monologue. He could probably guess at it, at any rate. 

"That's much better. We'll make a Malfoy out of you yet, Harry. Such a strong sense of duty you have." 

"Stop calling it that." 

"Mm. If it bothers you, I suppose I can concede that one." Suddenly he'd extended a hand, taken Harry's arm. Harry was pulled forward two steps, putting him directly in front of Lucius. "I trust you gathered the complete gist of that vow?" 

"I got it," Harry said tightly. "Now let Draco go. From whatever you're doing to him." 

Lucius arched an eyebrow again. "I'm sorry, were you under the impression that was it? No, Harry, I thought I made it rather clear. Draco's punishment will end when I'm satisfied that you've kept up your part of the bargain. If this ends with you in Petrificus after all, I'll leave him-- and you-- there in petulant retribution, long enough to make both of you quite sorry. Fucking the equivalent of a warm corpse actually isn't one of my fantasies, and you'll make me very unhappy if that's how this ends." He reached out and drew Harry's glasses off his face. 

Harry's hands itched for his wand, for a weapon, for Lucius's throat. He actually had to grip the edge of his jacket to still them. "You fucking bastard." 

The set of Lucius's mouth grew a little colder. "Right, we can start with that. No more of those epithets. If they're not uttered in physical pain or passion from this moment, I shall not be happy." He smiled, and it was still cold. "As I said, I shall show you that this can be quite a pleasant evening for both of us, now that I have your cooperation." 

He took the last step toward Harry that closed the distance between them. "A little more of this, I think, to begin with, yes?" 

He put two fingers under Harry's chin to draw his face up before he kissed him. That was a move Draco had never done; he and Harry were of a height. 

Good, thought Harry. He didn't want to be thinking of Draco during this. It wouldn't be right. 

Except... except that there were still too many similarities, more than just the taste. Draco had been the only man he'd kissed for the past two years; he'd forgotten this essential sameness that was there in being kissed passionately, the instinct to listen to sheer physical cues, even beyond the skill of the kiss. The way Lucius slid his hand to the back of Harry's neck, pressed his body into Harry's, worried at his lower lip with his mouth... all of these things would have, should have moved him not at all, unless there was something of a physical nature there to begin with, and there was, dammit; Lucius was beauty and animal hunger personified, Harry had long admitted it to himself, and again as recently as minutes ago, and at the time, had not been at all ashamed of it-- wasn't it the same fallen-angel mien that took his breath away when he looked at Draco? 

And that thing about the skill of the kiss... 

Lucius was quite determined to sweep him away with it. Nothing nice about this kiss, nothing sweet about it; just like before, the kiss was inflicted on him. Instead of demanding to be answered, like Draco's, it demanded surrender. And everything about the situation had already been concluded with a bloody proverbial white flag; what the hell could Harry do? 

You could find it not so cock-stirring to be snogging your son-of-a-bitch father-in-law. 

Ah, hell, he couldn't be... goddammit, he was, he was already hardening in his pants; it wasn't goddamn fair, the bastard was having something appalling done to Draco and taking over their goddamn wedding night and all Harry could do was respond: "Well, he IS rather dishy, just like his son... " 


He pulled away from Lucius. Too late. He saw the look on Lucius's face and realized that Lucius knew exactly why he'd had to pull away just then.  

"No, I don't think so. Come back here." 

This time, Lucius's obvious enjoyment of Harry's distress at his own physical betrayal left enough of an angry spark in him that Harry was able to keep a hold of that spark and keep his body from simply moulding into Lucius's while Lucius kissed him, folded his arms around him-- though Harry knew the feel of his stiffening organ was not going to be missed. 

Particularly as he could feel the same thing on Lucius. 

An indeterminate number of minutes had passed when Lucius released him and gave him a little push backwards. 


On the edge of the bed, obviously; it was just a few feet behind him. 

This was not easy. It seemed that to do it would scream of complacency, even more than staying still for the kiss had been. 

Harry backed up, sat upon the edge of the bed with his hands not quite gripping the edge on either side of him. Looking up at Lucius this way was equally difficult for him. 

The sable blanket was cool under his palms. The last thing Harry wanted was to share that with Lucius, and not his husband. He thought about dragging it off the bed. 

He thought about how stupid he would look. 

Lucius stepped forward, reached to Harry's neck and in two movements had the bowtie undone and pulled off. Harry remembered his intentions regarding that tie and Draco. 

"Take off your jacket, " Lucius said. 

Harry shrugged his way free of it; Lucius was doing the same with his vest. While Harry and Draco had eschewed wizard's formal wear for the event, most of the generation above them had preferred it, and Lucius had been wearing robes over shirt and vest. 

Removing the vest put the two of them at the same level of undress. Lucius gave Harry a look that could only be described as appreciative and sat down next to him on the edge of the bed. Harry found it impossible not to flinch away, but Lucius took a hold of one of his hands and brought the palm to his mouth in a way that made Harry think he would bite.  

But it was only a kiss-- a wet kiss, on the center of his palm. Harry felt that, and watched the way Lucius's eyes closed as he did it, and shuddered. 

As he kissed, Lucius removed the cuff link at Harry's wrist, then took Harry's other hand and repeated the action, from the center-of-the-palm kiss to the removal of the cuff link. Harry waited until it appeared that Lucius was done with the kiss and said, "Give me those..." Lucius conceded, handed the cuff links to Harry, who shoved them into the pocket of his discarded jacket. They'd been a present from Hermione and he didn't want to lose them. 

And no, his concern over them seemed neither absurd nor petty. When this night was over, he was going to have to continue his life. The fewer anguishes he had to deal with on this night the better. 


Goddammit, they were going to get past this somehow. 

Lucius moved his hands to Harry's throat and began releasing the studs on the shirt, one at a time. When he had most of Harry's chest bared he leaned in and this time it was Harry's turn to shut his eyes as he felt Lucius's lips on his sternum, then his breast. His throat started to tighten.  

I'm in love with your son, he wanted to say, wanted to plead. I'm in love with your son. Don't do this to us.  

He didn't say it. 

Lucius had his shirt open the rest of the way, was kissing his way down to Harry's stomach, and now put one hand on Harry's shoulder, pushing him back to the surface of the bed. When he felt Lucius's mouth at his navel, felt him pulling the tails of his shirt free from his trousers, he bit his lips. It was either that or curse the bastard. 

He heard Lucius sigh as he sat up again. "You look perfectly edible in this position, dear Harry. I think I need to kiss you again." And he did, crawling over him until he could angle his head just so, kiss Harry's mouth in that same controlling way, suck at his lower lip, over and over again, bite at it until Harry thought it must have be swelling to twice its size, as if in an allergic reaction to some particularly savory forbidden fruit. 

Again, breathless. Again, not an altogether bad feeling. 

Damn the man. 

The kissing had only made him harder. Harry hated that, and telling himself that he was only human helped not at all. 

As if reading his mind, Lucius's hand moved purposefully over the front of Harry's trousers, and Harry's hips jerked against his hand. He groaned, unable to prevent himself. 

The sound Lucius made in return was one of satisfaction without being a taunt. He kissed Harry more delicately. "I think I'd like you to remove the rest of your clothing while I watch." He squeezed Harry's erection through the cloth. "I want to see if this is as lovely as it feels." 

Face on fire as Lucius got off of him, Harry forced himself to sit up, and then, Lucius's expectant eyes on him, he stood. Trying to judge just how fast would be too fast-- he didn't want to hear Lucius tell him to slow it down, make more of a show for him-- he pulled the open shirt off at a speed just under what he supposed would be the upper limits of acceptable. 

Lucius made another appreciative noise. He was leaning back slightly, one hand behind him on the bed as he watched Harry disrobe. Harry saw how the black fur cover on the bed set off the whiteness of his shirt, his hair. It was so like he'd imagined Draco that it made him pause, bitter longing welling up from his very center. 

He bent and spent a few moments untying his shoes, then sliding them off, pushing them off to one side. As he removed his socks, he couldn't keep from glancing up at Lucius, and again wanted to hex that faint smile right off his hateful face. Where had the bastard put his wand? 

Doesn't matter, now. He didn't want to endure this under Petrificus, and he definitely didn't want to be blamed for Draco suffering anything more than he had to. 

He undid his trousers, pushed them down, and stepped out of them, tossing them onto a chair. His shorts were hiding nothing; Harry glared as he pulled them off as well, stood there in nothing but that glare and his hard-on. Fucking satisfied? 

Of course he was, and of course he wasn't. "Very nice. Turn a bit..." Harry's fingers curled into fists as he made himself obey, determined not to pose for him, and yet aware that the scrutiny was causing him to become even harder still. 

"Quite, quite beautiful. You know that, don't you?... Come here." Lucius's voice was soft, and that gentleness was worse than the threatening tones; Harry had to swallow past a tightness in his throat as he stepped back to the bed. Lucius touched, not his cock, but his shoulders, reaching up to put his hands on them lightly, making him bend into another kiss, again, light, yet no less commanding, and Harry nearly stumbled while standing.  

I don't want him. 

True, but Lucius wanted him, in a way that was more than finding somewhere convenient to bury his cock, and that was very difficult to ignore. 

And now Lucius's hands were on his cock, or more specifically, under it, cupping underneath his scrotum and lifting it, all the way up to the rigid underside of his cock, forcing a gasp out of him, and one hand held him there while the other took his arm to draw him down again, this time directly into Lucius's lap, despite the fact that he was no featherweight, and still kissing him, the hand on his arm now moving behind his shoulders, and up to slide into the hair at the back of his neck, and the contact at those places on his body was overwhelming, and Harry didn't know if it was worse, Lucius still completely clothed while he was naked like this-- the alternative being for both of them to be naked, and that was hardly an unintimidating thought. 

Lucius's hand was squeezing more firmly around the twin package of his balls and his cock, and Harry tried not to moan so, which was fucking difficult, thank you very much, Lucius. He could feel Lucius's answering hum of satisfaction against his own mouth, which was another startlingly interesting moment, and tried to move his hips-- though whether that movement was directed away from Lucius's lap, or into his hand, Harry didn't even want to think. 

Lucius stopped kissing him just long enough to murmur, "Delicious. All of you. As if I could possibly have passed on this." His hand on Harry's swollen genitals wasn't letting up at all, in fact he was working him both harder and faster, and Harry was left with the dilemma of what to do with his own hands in the middle of all this impossible sensation. He found himself unable to put them anywhere but on Lucius's shoulders, loath though he was to even touch the man voluntarily-- otherwise he was going to fall backwards, and that was just too vulnerable a display for him to present at this point. 

There was a wetness on Lucius's hand, and Harry knew it had come from his own cock, beginning to leak despite any will he might have had to make things happen otherwise. Harry knew it would do no good to try to think of something else; too many things about this were working against him: the conditions of the Wizard's Vow, to which he did not want to fall victim, the skill of both Lucius's hands, and his mouth, coaxing response out of him (and eventually, he wouldn't doubt, orgasm, the evil bastard)... 

...not to mention Lucius himself. 

Dammit, he hated that it kept coming back to that. Lucius was unbearably sexy, even clothed-- maybe even especially clothed, with the immaculate taste and grooming that he always had. The rational part of Harry was never going to forget how much he hated this man for doing this to him, but the part that was directing the response of his cock, and his breathing, and the impression that his blood was trying to flow in reverse directions all at once... that part didn't remotely care. That part spoke in guttural grunts and was letting Harry know that he wasn't running this show, not at all. 

Lucius let Harry slide from his lap back to the surface of the bed, where he immediately was over him, kissing him, trapping his hard cock between their bodies, where Harry could feel it rubbing against the wool of Lucius's trousers, hot and prickling, making him squirm in a way he couldn't control. Lucius chuckled. "Yes, that's it, Harry," he said, pressing his own cloth-covered erection harder into Harry's pelvis, making him tighten his grip on Lucius's arms as he moaned. "Tell me how you like it. Do you like it hard and fast? Would you prefer to be teased?" 

Oh, no, Harry thought. Please make him stop talking. I don't want to hear him say this. But Lucius went on relentlessly: "Is it all mouth action, between you and Draco? I can hardly believe that, given the sweet shape of your arse; he must be desperate to have that under him, squirming as he impales it. Or perhaps you're the one on top. I suspect Draco could be quite the slut, when he's in love, or thinks he's in love... Does he call your name? Get on his hands and knees and beg you to fuck him, looking at you over that shoulder so enticingly that you can't wait to bury yourself inside his arse or mouth, and maybe it seems like the cruelest thing, that you can't do both at once? When he's on his knees sucking you, does he look up at your eyes, and do you look down at his, so that you can see every lash of his eyelids against his skin like petals on a flower? Do you almost come from looking at him like that alone?" 

Harry managed to stay quiet for all of it, but knew his _expression was beyond fury. Lucius chuckled again, lightly running his fingers over Harry's face in a way that made him shudder. "I would give much to see that. You are both such beautiful young men." He kissed Harry once more, and then rose. Harry watched as Lucius began to disrobe, his curiosity bordering on the morbid, wanting to know if his rapist was as well put together as the cut of his clothing implied. 

Hell. He was. 

Harry couldn't help remembering what he'd thought about Draco-- that in twenty years, Draco could look like that. But that was worse, he didn't want to think of Draco in all this. 

So, Harry watched. 

Lucius carried himself once undressed with that easy grace of one who knows he has nothing lacking in physique. Somehow his clothing got laid aside neatly without giving the impression that he'd even noticed where it had been put. Harry had pushed himself up to a half-sitting position, wanting very much to bolt, yet overwhelmed by the need to see what was happening. 

If Draco had the gorgeous body of a physically fit young man, his father was no less amazing, looking, not twenty years older, but twenty years more honed. Harry had a weakness for the sort of pectoral muscles that made you want to sink your teeth into them; Lucius had those and that was hardly all of it. Harry saw the thickness of his biceps and was nearly startled; no wonder Lucius had had no difficulties overpowering him. 

And then he was back to that whole below-the-waist thing. Oh, god. Slightly... just slightly bigger than Draco. Who had never given him anything to complain about. 

Lucius didn't stand there posing, though. He crossed back to the bed and sat, pulling Harry back to him. Harry found himself being settled back into Lucius's lap, and it was enough to make him suck in his breath, the feeling of being skin-on-skin with the man. 

Again Lucius was kissing him, mouth then moving down from his mouth to his neck, and this was not the series of light trailing kisses he'd laid down earlier upon Harry's torso. Now he was licking at Harry's flesh in earnest, not so much devouring as much as if he were trying to leave his scent upon him, possessively. Harry gasped again as Lucius's mouth moved over his nipple and bit, and his hands went to the man's shoulders again as if he would try to push him away if it became too much for him.  

Not that he actually could do that here, given the bloody terms. 

As if he sensed that, Lucius gave Harry a push at the center of his chest, and Harry was directed onto his back again. Predatory smile on his face, Lucius returned to Harry's nipple, biting again, teasing the very tip of it with his tongue so that Harry arched his back and inhaled audibly, eventually moving to pay the same attentions to its twin. Harry found his breath was starting to become a rasp, in and out, as Lucius toyed between the lightest of touches and near-painful bites and licks of that very sensitive flesh, until even the light touches were almost excruciating. 

And even then Lucius didn't stop. This was different. Draco was never this slow, never this patient. Not that Harry had ever complained; he was no different, either, too eager to get on with the main event to lie still for much teasing. Draco hadn't been a tease since their first few times together, also too young and too eager for it to be caught up in the "oh, so it's The Boy Who Lived who wants me" game for too long. 

Lucius bit him again and Harry couldn't keep back a small groan. Lucius chuckled against his chest, but didn't stop what he was doing. Of course not, Harry thought. It wouldn't be that easy; if all Lucius wanted was to hear him cry out, Harry could bloody well carry on like a whining four-year old and get the whole thing over with. 

No. He wouldn't do that, would he? 

The fucker knew it, too. 

However, Harry was getting precariously close to screaming Look, just STOP that by the time Lucius's mouth moved on from his nipples. And it wasn't from boredom, either; those twin circles of flesh had been so sensitized that even a breath across them right now would bring him dangerously close to whimpering. 

The series of licks that Lucius was laying over his belly was equally maddening: light, slow strokes, seeming to focus on every ticklish impulse he had. Harry actually brought the back of his hand to his own mouth so that he could bite at his knuckle if he needed to. He didn't care if Lucius saw. He had to do something to keep himself from pushing Lucius off him; no, he definitely didn't want to end up body-binded. 

Yet keeping himself still for this felt as though he were already under it. Lucius's mouth was close to his groin now, and given how hard Harry's cock was, and the angle at which it was straining, the distance seemed negligible. Yet Lucius deliberately avoided his cock, concentrating instead upon just the surface of his stomach, even when his mouth began to follow the increasingly thick trail of hairs that began at his navel. 

Lucius lifted his mouth away long enough to say, "Spread your legs." 

Harry inhaled. 

Made himself do it. 

The feeling of the sable beneath his balls as he did so made him want to squirm. 

Lucius was studying him. "This is almost sad, you know," he murmured. "The idea that this may be the only chance I get to have you is heartbreaking, dear Harry. " 

Harry didn't hear regret in his tone, though. He heard calculation. Ideas shifting in Lucius Malfoy's head as he wondered how to engineer just such a thing. 

Harry didn't so much as clench his fists. He wouldn't. 

Until the brush of Lucius's mouth over his cock broke that resolve so thoroughly he was convinced he was going to have bloody marks in the center of his palms from digging in his nails. God, he was so fucking hard. 

Lucius took him inside his mouth and began licking. Every motion of his tongue on the underside of Harry's cock was nearly agony, however, he was doing it so slowly. Harry's thoughts that he couldn't possibly last long were turned upside down by that particular little development. "Fuck...!" he breathed. He heard Lucius chuckle again. 

When Lucius pulled his mouth away at last, it wasn't to stop, but only to say, "Would you like me to go faster, Harry?" and return to the same agonizingly slow pattern of licks. 

Harry was panting. He wasn't going to say it, he wasn't. 

Lucius's tongue flickered over the slit at the tip of his cock. 

Harry broke. "YES! Oh, my god, STOP that!" 

He had to stop making promises to himself that he couldn't fucking keep. 

Lucius did stop what he was doing, but only to move down to Harry's exposed balls and suck one into his mouth like a serpent stealing a bird's egg. Harry jerked, moaning, "Oh, fuck..." again, hardly knowing how he was able to keep still. 

His hands weren't at his mouth now; they were at his sides, clutching at that fur surface beneath him-- which wasn't properly long enough to get any kind of grip on it. His thighs were shaking with the effort not to move, and he seethed at the knowledge that Lucius could feel that. 

Lucius took his time, mouthing and licking at his scrotum, Harry nearly blind with aching, hoping he would stop but wanting nothing so much as for him to return to his desperately needy cock. No. Goddammit, no. 

But when Lucius did, Harry could do nothing other than arch into his mouth with a moan. 

The waves of pressure overcame Harry, sweeping through him as Lucius's hands toyed with his balls while his tongue rasped over the excruciating underside of Harry's cock, and Harry choked and twisted the sable coverlet in his hands in lieu of grabbing his tormentor's shoulders, feeling every stroke of Lucius's tongue following the chorus of Yes...yes...YES... that was repeating in his head, too much in need to hate himself for it. 

Lucius stopped. 

Harry groaned. 

Pulling his mouth away and laying one hand on the side of Harry's arse, Lucius said, "Turn over." 

Harry could barely breathe, much less move, but Lucius's hands wouldn't let him lie still; he was prompted, he was directed, until he was lying face down on the coverlet, his impossibly hard cock feeling the soft caress of the fur so that it was all he could do not to hump the bed in shameless rhythm. 

Lucius had his hands on the lowest part of Harry's back now, just above the pelvic girdle. Harry could feel him moving into position between his still-spread legs. He's going to make me take it up the arse, Harry thought, shuddering in a way that was not solely because of fear.  

But it was Lucius's fingers that he felt first of all, spreading the cheeks of his arse open, stroking with an irresistible delicacy at that tight entrance, doing nothing to make him relax, actually, but prompting further shudders as he teased the contracted flesh there. Lucius's fingers were dry, and they made no attempt to enter him just yet. Harry could feel the fur beneath him dampening with the leakage from his cock as he was exposed and stroked in the most lewd fashion. He pushed his mouth against the bed to muffle another groan. 

It was almost a whimper when he felt Lucius's tongue press against him. Harry never failed to be overwhelmed by that particular intimacy; his face was on fire as that tongue slid between his parted cheeks to lick at the crease, tease that hypersensitive skin as Harry clutched at the bedclothes again, sucking in his breath as his entrance was probed open so very deftly. 

Harry no longer cared about the noises he was making. Now it actually seemed more shameful to stay quiet for something like this. 

His muscles yielding to the invasion, his entire body yielding to the expert caress, Harry arched, his shoulders lifting, his hips pushing harder against the surface of the bed as Lucius penetrated him with his tongue, slowly, making him want to scream and squirm and push himself back against that wet insinuating clever organ. God, he could not believe that Lucius could weaken him this easily. 

And then something firmer was pushing just inside his anus, eased by the wetness of Lucius's saliva, equally skillful in its movements as it dilated him open, yet moving no deeper yet. Harry all but collapsed upon the bed as Lucius added a second fingertip to the first, and his moan was not quite loud enough to prevent him from hearing Lucius's richly sensual voice murmuring, "More, Harry?" 

A-ha. No. No, he wasn't going to get that from him. Harry clamped his mouth on the skin on the back of his hand to keep himself from answering. 

Lucius's two fingertips inside his anus gave the most minute twist. "Answer me, Harry. I command it. Would you like me to go deeper?" 

Fuck. He knew that if he refused to speak, he might find himself under body-bind. Could he get around it? 

...No. He could barely breathe, much less think of something clever to permit him to answer in the negative. "God... oh, god, yes, goddamn you, Lucius..." 

Harry shuddered as he felt Lucius bend his head to the fingers that were already entering him partway and lick at the exposed length of them, moistening them further with his own saliva, flickers of his tongue grazing Harry's cleft as well, until he had them wet enough to bury them deep inside in one motion. Harry keened. 

Through senses muddied by an agony of feeling, Harry was aware of Lucius stretching out beside him, half-over him, along his left side, Lucius's left hand curving around his shoulder and his mouth quite near his ear, lips just brushing it. "I can feel your pulse this way," that voice said, breath humidifying the hair just behind his ear. Harry suddenly felt as though the bone of his skull there was fragile as mica. 

"I can tell when your heart beats faster, my defenseless Harry, such as when you think about how it's going to be my cock that enters you this way next-- ah, yes, just like that." Harry moaned at that further betrayal, his arse clenching involuntarily around the fingers deep within him. "Answer me, Harry: does Draco ever make you beg to have him inside you? Does he command, or tease you that way, hmm?" 

Harry couldn't censor his response. "Yessss..." 

"Ah, I thought he might. And have you done the same to him, then? Held off burying your own prick inside him, no matter how much you wanted to, until he whimpered, Please, Harry, please fuck me ?" The obscene whispers were accompanied by a slow withdrawal and thrust of Lucius's fingers. 

"I-- yes, dammit, yes...!"  

Lucius chuckled. "Not so stainless as we like to pretend, are we, Harry?" He didn't let Harry answer, for at that moment he rotated his fingers again and licked at the shell of Harry's ear while he did so, and any answer he might have made was lost in a sound that was so near a sob, it made him want to obliviate himself so that he'd never have to remember how he sounded. 

But that was only the beginning, as Lucius began to fuck him with his fingers in earnest, and Harry would have thought that the pain of having this done with nothing but saliva for lubrication would have had him fighting Lucius for all he was worth. Yet fighting wasn't even close to what he had in mind, even without the threat of Petrificus looming over him. Lucius somehow managed to graze over his prostate with only every third thrust or so, again leaving him panting and clutching and terribly, terribly aware of his pulse throbbing against Lucius's fingers. 

That mouth was still right next to his ear. "I suggest you tell me what you dear boys use for lubricant, and where you were keeping it in this room." 

Harry could barely think. "In -- uhn-- the..." No, wait, he hadn't put it in the bedside table drawer yet, had he? "Bathroom. Under the-- fuck-- sink..." 

"I think this is a good time for you to get it, then. Up on your hands and knees, Harry. You're going to crawl." 

Bastard, he thought. What he actually said was, "Uhn-- god--" 

And then he made himself get on his hands and knees. 

But when he started to move beyond that, he almost collapsed, feeling Lucius's fingers still deep inside him. Another unintelligible moan escaped him. 

"Do get moving, my dear son-in-law." 

Fuck you. He started again to crawl off the bed, realizing Lucius was also pushing himself up. And still not withdrawing his fingers. 

"Oh, yes, Harry, I'm coming with you." 

Harry moaned a noise that was meant to be a protest, but Lucius ignored it-- or, more likely, savored it. If Lucius had pulled out a goddamn leash and collar, it couldn't be more humiliating. 

And that was how Harry found himself crawling towards the bathroom to fetch the tube of lubricant, his father-in-law's fingers buried in his arse as he followed in a half-crouch, still thrusting slowly in and out so that Harry's strength almost buckled multiple times. 

Somehow Harry got there, sliding open the door of the cabinet beneath the sink. As he reached for the tube, Lucius said, "In your teeth." 

Those fingers moved over his prostate again and it was all Harry could do to obey. He couldn't even think an epithet as he got the ridiculous little tube in his mouth. 

But he managed to think several descriptive ones as he was forced to crawl back to the bed in the same manner.  

Lucius took the tube from him in his left hand as he directed Harry back up onto the bed. 

"Right in the center of the bed, that's right, Harry. Now... spread your arms and legs out. No, wider." 

Harry gave a hiss that was as close as he could come to I'm going to kill you, you fuck, given that Lucius had forbidden spoken insults. Spread-eagling himself like this with those fingers still up him was murder, even more so than crawling had been. And his cock was all but whining for him to move, now that it had that fur bedspread beneath it again. 

He felt Lucius moving onto the bed between his spread legs. The fingers buried in his arse moved out partway, and Harry felt them return in an abundance of slickness, coated with the lube and moving more quickly now. This time he almost yelped as Lucius massaged his prostate. 

"Don't move. And don't you dare try to touch your cock." 

The fingers were withdrawing and Harry felt the smooth head of Lucius's cock pressing against him, centering so precisely that when he pushed forward he was impaling him by a good number of inches, and that despite his cock being rather larger than the width of his two fingers. Harry shuddered, dug his fingers into the bed (still unable to get a grip on the fur, dammit), and made himself yield to the penetration as more of that thick cock pushed past the ring of muscle. 

When he was completely sheathed inside him and Harry could feel Lucius's hips pressed against his arsecheeks, his balls contacting the cleft and brushing against the base of his own scrotum, Lucius then began to withdraw slowly, so slowly that Harry was almost mewling by the time he thrust forward into him again. He squirmed, feeling the increasingly damp patch on the fur pulling stickily at his own cock, wanting Lucius to move faster, pound into him if necessary-- not this agonizingly slow invasion. 

Agonizingly slow were words he'd never had applied to sex before, not with Draco. Both of them were admittedly of the quantity-over-quality school of horniness, but when you were barely into your twenties and both male, that was hardly likely to make for sexual incompatibility. 

And now, this. Oh, this was going to be so easy to introduce into his sex life with Draco, wasn't it? Hey, Draco, you wanna try something a little different? I learned it when your father and I were fucking. 

Another of those slow thrusts. Harry's breath exploded out of him in a cry of, "Oh, fuck--" as his entire body shook, his fingers starting to cramp with the extreme rigidity of the claws they were curled into. 

"Ssh. Don't move." Lucius's voice was soft as the pillow that smothers a babe. 

And Harry tried to obey, tried so hard. 

It seemed to be enough for Lucius, as no curse came to suddenly freeze Harry in place. Harry stayed unhexed, free to stay still by his own will, free to whimper and free to feel the traitorous water in his eyes threaten to spill over. Free. Right. 

Lucius withdrew. All the way. Harry heard him exhale, the sound conveying pain and satisfaction all at once, difficult as that was for Harry to grasp. 

Lucius hadn't come yet. 

Neither of them had. 

He felt Lucius rise from the bed. Harry turned his head enough to see Lucius standing at the side of the bed, watching him. Still very much erect. 

"I want to see you crawl again," Lucius said, his voice thick with the need that he was doing a supreme job of keeping at bay. Harry shuddered just to hear that. "Off the bed, back into the bath." 

His cock protested, protested being lifted off that fur surface, protested as he crawled down and off the bed and crawled back to the bathroom, his thighs brushing against its length as he did so, each movement sparking a bloody argument that he had to keep doing this. And what did Lucius have in mind now? 

He found out once he was in the bathroom and Lucius did something with the bath taps that had the spa-sized tub filled within moments. A bath, it seemed. 

Lucius descended into the sunken tub, his white-blond hair spreading out on the surface of the water like pale serpents, and gestured at Harry. "Come." 

The warm water was admittedly soothing as he slowly entered it, so much so that Harry could not quite muster the squeamishness he ordinarily would have when Lucius put out his arms and pulled Harry into an embrace in the chest-deep water. Again Lucius sought to devour his mouth, and Harry let out a muffled groan to feel himself so overcome. Lucius's erect cock nudged his own, then pressed harder into his groin. Harry thought it was a good thing that he had the water to buoy him up, as he suddenly felt sapped of all endurance. 

All he wanted was to have this over. 

Which admittedly meant he wanted to come.  

Lucius had slid one hand down his back, over the curve of his arse and thigh and was now cupping his balls in one hand, there in the water, squeezing lightly, and then not so lightly. Harry groaned again, his mouth still captured against Lucius's. 

At last Lucius stopped kissing him and released his grip. Harry found something being pushed into his hand: a bar of soap. He stared at it, feeling as though the heat of the water had dulled his ability to understand. 

"Clean me," said Lucius. "You'll want to before this next part." 

It took more effort than he would have thought to comply. More effort to make himself cleanse Lucius's cock, there in that bath, than it had taken to make himself crawl along the floor with the man's fingers wedged inside in his arse. 

When he was done, Lucius said, "Now... let me see how talented that mouth of yours is." 

Again, that dullness that made him slow to say: "What... here?" 

Lucius's fingers were on Harry's chin, his thumb stroking over his lower lip in a way that said You know I could be doing this to your cock, don't you? You want that badly, too, don't you? "Take a breath, and go under the water. You may come back up when you need to breathe. Of course, I expect you to put your best efforts into it." 

He'd just bet. Taking a deep breath-- then taking another one as the first one had got caught on the tightness in his throat-- Harry slipped under the water. 

He managed all right at first, tonguing Lucius's hard cock for a fair bit before surfacing for a breath, but when he attempted, on his second submergence, to take the thick length into his mouth, he became momentarily confused and tried to breathe through his nose. Hacking and sputtering as he tried to catch his breath above the water, Harry saw Lucius's amusement, and it was not fond or tender. 

He tried not to think about what that might mean. 

He did better on his next try. He was able to suck and lick at Lucius's cock for what seemed the better part of a minute before coming up for a breath, without incident this time.  

Lucius kept him at it until the duration of each immersion was needfully growing shorter and shorter; then he took the panting Harry and pushed him up against the side of the bath and began to ravish his mouth with his kisses again. Harry found himself struggling for air, unable to get enough through his nose as Lucius somehow managed to keep him helpless by virtue of his kisses alone. 

It didn't help when Lucius pushed a finger between his buttocks and penetrated him again; Harry felt his erection, which hadn't flagged during all this, grow even harder. He moaned into Lucius's mouth, wasting precious oxygen. 

The water seemed to envelop him everywhere that Lucius's body did not, as if the water were just an extension of Lucius, so that he might violate Harry all the more completely. Harry felt the little droplets of water dripping down onto his shoulders from the ends of his own wet hair: cooler, sending shivers down his back. Everything about this was designed to overwhelm him with sensation, as though the water contained some kind of potion. But Harry doubted that that was the case. It was hardly necessary; delaying orgasm like this was exceptional enough, for him; how could a potion outdo that? 

Lucius's other hand was on Harry's cock now, fingers caressing it lightly, and the combination of that and the ripples in the water the motions created, playing over it, were driving him mad. Oh, god, he wanted to come NOW. 

Lucius finally released his mouth. Harry found his head falling back over the edge of the bath as he gasped. He heard Lucius chuckle again. 

Oh, god, if the man actually did intend to indulge in any real breathplay after this, Harry wasn't going to be able to stand for it. No. 

He thought about Draco again, and about limits. 

And realized that no, he really had no idea where they were, did he? 

Lucius's hands were moving from between his legs to grasp his shoulders, pulling him up and out of the bath with him. Momentarily Harry feared he would not be able to support himself; his legs were threatening to give way altogether. 

But Lucius simply let him lean against a wall while he fetched a towel and pushed it into Harry's hands; when Harry would have used it on himself, Lucius said, "No, me," and pushed his hair back out of the way, over his shoulders. Harry peeled himself away from the wall and made himself comply, not even needing a dry towel to sponge the majority of the water out of Lucius's long hair when he was finishing, the towel was so voluminous and thick. 

Nor did Lucius bother getting another when he took it from Harry and repeated the process for him. Well, repeating the process wasn't quite accurate, Harry thought. By the time Lucius had finished drying him off Harry felt as though he'd been completely debauched by that act alone, Lucius had made such a thorough and shameless job of it, as well as utterly chastened in the quality of his own skill at the task. If he thought he'd been weak-kneed-- or hard--before... 

Lucius did not speak this time when he directed Harry back into the bedroom-- nor did he require him to go to his knees. What he did do, when they were both standing by the bed, was to sit at the edge and pull Harry back to his lap. 

And then, abruptly, over it. 

Harry was suddenly clutching at the bedclothes again. He was lying arse up over Lucius's thighs, and Lucius was slowly running the flat of his palm against his arsecheeks. In a... preparatory way. 

Oh, no.  

It wasn't that this was a loaded thing for Harry in and of itself. It was the realization of who was doing it, and the thought that Lucius had very possibly had Draco in just this position at some point. As a boy. Waiting to be punished. 

The idea of either Malfoy getting off on it under those circumstances sent his aversion centers into overdrive. Not good. No. Ick. 

It could have been worse. It could have been breathplay, he told himself. 

"Spread your legs," Lucius said. Harry was beginning to recognize that as one of the man's favorite commands; he put such lasciviousness into it. Harry followed orders as best he could, laid out over Lucius's lap as he was. 

Lucius shifted beneath him just enough to trap Harry's cock between his thighs and hold him there. 

Harry shuddered so hard this time he almost came. 

When the first slap came, right in the center of his right arsecheek, Harry jerked but made no sound. Which he thought was pretty good; it wasn't the spank nearly so much as it was the way the movement pulled at his cock. 

The second slap was just a bit harder. Still the sensations to his cock were the most significant. 

On the fifth, he started to see how that might change. Lucius wasn't confining the slaps just to his arse, but was aiming for the backs of his thighs as well. 

On the tenth he hissed. On the twelfth he yelped. 

He cursed on the fifteenth. "Ow! Dammit..." 

After the twentieth, when it seemed plain that he was not going to be able to keep himself still for much longer, Harry felt Lucius's hand massage over his buttocks and thighs in circular motions. That, in contrast, felt more than just soothing, it made his cock jump like there had been a direct connection between it and Lucius's palm. Lucius did that for a few moments, spanked him again, caressed and squeezed his flesh afterward similarly, spanked him for the twenty-second time, and began to set up quite the intense pattern in that fashion. 

The heat in his arse surpassed-- barely-- by that in his face and his cock, Harry lost count before Lucius was done. He certainly lost his dignity, moaning and balling the fur into his fists, shuddering on the verge of climax yet somehow not quite permitted to fall over into it. 

Lucius pulled him up, settling Harry onto his lap again, and Harry saw Lucius's look of satisfaction as his warmed arse contacted Lucius's lap. Still smiling, Lucius hooked one hand under Harry's knee and pulled Harry around so that he was straddling him, face to face. Harry felt Lucius's stiff cock tuck between the cleft of his buttocks and shivered. 

Lucius was gripping his arms so hard he was certain to leave bruises. Neither was his mouth trying to seduce or be gentle as he pushed it against Harry's, biting, sucking furiously at his lips and tongue when he could be bothered to stop biting, and Harry shortly found himself being pushed back onto the bed in the midst of that fierce, near-lacerating kissing, Lucius's weight on him as he forced Harry's thighs back. 

Harry felt Lucius's hands on his abused arse again, spreading him, and he'd laid hands on the tube of lubricant as well, coating most of his cleft with the gel. Nothing gentle or slow now; Lucius pushed inside him with three fingers all at once, and Harry yelled between clenched teeth, afraid it would be a scream if he let his jaw muscles relax. 

Then Lucius had a grip around each of Harry's ankles, pushing his thighs all the way back to his chest as Lucius's erection pressed against his greased arsehole and forced him open. Harry threw his arms out to either side and hung on to the bedclothes, and this time it really was a scream, magnified when Lucius's next thrust propelled him past Harry's prostate. 

Gone was the Lucius who was satisfied to make him moan in frustration; in his place Harry was left with a feral beast whose attitude was that he would make short work of his prey. Harry couldn't possibly just lie there and take it as Lucius drove in and out of him, writhing, lifting his hips, turning his face away when the length of Lucius's still-damp hair brushed against his face and chest, but forced to turn back when Lucius's mouth descended over his own, still devouring, still biting. 

And then the thrusting did slow after all, and Harry felt Lucius's hand encircling his cock, not stroking but squeezing until the gradation that separated the rapture of that from pain was infinitesimal, and then Lucius's thumb swirled over the seeping tip of Harry's cock in slow, firm circles, and that was it, the ache that consumed Harry from nipples to groin at last was able to break through, and Harry howled into Lucius's mouth as he came, soaking his fingers with the eruption of sperm, pushing against him as though trying to put every part of their bodies in contact at once, one hand uncontrollably-- his face would burn with shame when he remembered it later-- tangling in, clutching at that long hair of his, the other splayed into the air as if reaching for the absent thing that he had expected to save him. 

Whatever that might have been. 

And as Lucius sped up again, the hypersensitivity of his prostate nearly made him lose consciousness as Lucius rammed past it, filling Harry to his depths with his thick cock, nearly upending him on the bed, wrenching more than one scream from him until at last Lucius came as well, almost noiselessly except for the tremor in his exhalation, flooding him with a warm surge of wetness that seemed to want to fill him all the way up to his throat.  

Lucius released the grip he'd had on Harry's ankles, but made no other move to get up just yet. Harry lay there blinking, panting, trying to get his breath back, suppressing the urge to squirm out from under him. 

When Lucius still did not move, and Harry thought he could speak without his voice cracking to betray him, Harry said, "All right. Let me up. Let Draco go." 

He could feel the bastard smiling against the side of his neck.  

"The hours of darkness, as I recall, were the terms, Harry." He licked at Harry's ear. "I have no intention of giving up a single minute of this wedding night." 


"Did I tell you you could stop?" 

"It's sunrise, goddammit." 

Lucius looked in the direction of the window. The faintest purple tinge touched the darkened sky. 

Technically Harry was right. 

Such a pity. 

Tangling his fingers in his son-in-law's hair, he drew his head up and away from his groin. "Very well. A kiss, and you can go." 

Harry's mouth shrank to a small, angry purse before he controlled himself and made himself press his mouth to Lucius's. Lucius opened Harry's lips with his tongue and made a thorough job of despoiling the boy's mouth before releasing him. 

The boy was off the bed so quickly one would have thought he'd just learned that it was cursed. He seized the first robe he touched in the wardrobe and threw it on. "Where's my fucking wand?" 

Lucius didn't bother to hide his smile. "I'll give it back to you later. What you need first," he continued before Harry could protest, "is this." 

A gesture, and the token was in his hand. He held the engraved piece of metal out to Harry. 

"That will let you into the dungeons, and when the house-elves see it, they will obey you if you tell them to stop what they are doing." 

"I want. My fucking. WAND." 

Quietly: "You're wasting time, Harry." 

The boy stared at him, still quite the picture of debauch with those robes wrapped haphazardly about his nudity. 

Then he came forward in three strides, grabbed the Malfoy crest token from Lucius's hand and was out of the door so quickly his robes hadn't quite finished swirling about him from the turn. 

Standing, stretching, Lucius began to gather up his own clothing. What a lucky young man his son was. 

It wasn't particularly important to him if Draco never forgave him. Draco was an adult now, and as an adult, he would learn what an unfair place the world was. 

That, after all, should be the final lesson of every father to his children. 



The dungeon wards had, as Lucius had promised, fallen at his approach. In the dim light Harry could not see the full interior of every cell, and he hoped to god Draco could hear him and could answer. 

He thought he heard something. Not just the echo of his own voice off the walls. 

"Draco!" He went forward towards the sound. 


Not... a cell, that he'd been held in, no. 

The central chamber. 

Central torture chamber. 

"Oh, fuck." 

Harry told himself, later, that if Draco's life had actually been in danger, he would have moved. Moved instantly. 

Not stood there transfixed at the appalling sight, fighting the supreme nausea that had hit him like a bludger to the gut. 

It wasn't the position. No, if he had to be honest, under other circumstances, the position might have been... rather hot. 

No, that wasn't what had him sickened. 

"...the house-elves... will obey you if you tell them to stop..." 

Mother... fucking... HOUSE...elves. 

"Get OFF him, you fucking little perverts!" he screamed, finally jerked out of his paralysis and moving forward. He remembered the metal crest and held it up. "Get off him NOW, I command it!" 

Seeing the crest in Harry's hand, the four indeterminately-gendered house-elves immediately scampered away from where they were clustered about Draco's groin and off of the table altogether. "Yes, Master Harry," said two of them together. 

"And don't fucking CALL me that! Oh, fuck, Draco...!" 

Draco, eyes open and quite, quite mad-looking, made a noise that came close to a gurgle. 

At first glance, he didn't appear to be harmed. The position couldn't have been comfortable, and even less so if he'd been in it all night as implied.  

It didn't look like there was a mark on him, at first. 

But the sheen on his chest and stomach... Dear god, Draco had practically been glazed in his own spunk. He looked like he'd come a dozen dozen times-- and he was hard again. Fuck. 

And his entire groin was red as if he'd been sunburnt. 

Harry started to go to the foot of the table upon which Draco had been spread-eagled, intending to release him from the ankle straps, but he hadn't even gotten within ten feet of the table before Draco screamed, "Don't touch it!" 

Harry was jolted to a halt, the shock outweighed by his relief that Draco was at least still conscious and coherent. He looked at Draco's crazed face, his own eyes no less wide. "What do I do? Is it booby trapped?" he all but babbled. 

Draco was hyperventilating, but seemed to be trying to get control. "Not... the table. Don't... touch..." --he swallowed-- "it." 

"What the fuck did they DO to you?" Harry's gaze moved between the body part in reference and Draco's face in rapid alternation. 

Again, Draco sought to get his breathing under control before he answered. "It's... oh, fuck, don't stir up the air like that!... It's a D-Dark Potion of my father's. Causes... hy-hypersensitivity. Oh, fucking bloody bugger, it feels like they're still o-on me, Harry..." 

Harry didn't wait any longer; he finished moving to the end of the table and started to undo the ankle straps. 

Draco swallowed audibly. "Remember... remember the Slytherin/Hufflepuff match our sixth year? The one they wouldn't call for rain or darkness and both sides racked up all those points?" It had almost been a world record. "That's... that's how many times I think I came. Oh, bloody fucking Grindelwald on a stick... NNNN! WATCH it, Harry!" 

Harry, who hadn't been anywhere near Draco's painful and painfully erect cock, but had only finished with the first restraint, backed off. "What? What should I do?" he babbled again. 

"Just-- oh, god, go slow. Don't... don't let my legs move too much..." 

Fingers shaking, Harry undid the restraint as carefully as he could. 

As he moved around to the head of the table to get the ones on Draco's wrists, Draco said, "Harry..." 

"Yes? What? What is it?" Oh, god, how was he going to get him off the table? 

"I just... oh, fuck, Harry, I am so, SO fucking sorry..." 

Harry stopped. "What?" 

"I'm sorry. Sorry I couldn't stop him. I'll kill him. I swear to god, I'll kill him for you." 

"Wh--" Harry stared. "What, you think-- Draco, fuck, do you think you need to kill him for me? If you want him dead, Draco, I'll be the one to do it first!" 

"Should-- should have listened to you. Listened to you about Voldemort. Listened to you about not becoming a Death Eater. Should have listened to you about my father. God, I am such a fucking idiot!" 

Harry had the wrist restraints undone but Draco wasn't trying to move yet. "Look, don't talk about it now. How do I-- what if I-- if I get something to wash this potion off, neutralize it..." 

Draco's laugh turned into a cough. "Can't--" he said when he could breathe, "Can't wash it off. Don't try. You bring water anywhere near my cock and I'm likely to try and kill you. No antidote either. You have to let it wear off." 

"Fuck. How long is that going to fucking take?" 

Another cough. "Days." 


"Believe me, I FUCKING KNOW!" 

"How the hell am I getting you off this table? Can you even walk?" 

"Did you just ask me what I THINK you asked me?" 

"Well, your father took my FUCKING WAND! I can't even do Mobilicorpus unless--" 

Harry stopped. 

Turned the full force of his glare on the house-elves in the corner, who had the sense to cower. 

"All right," he said. "You. Get him back to our rooms. Levitate him there. SLOWLY. If you evil little pieces of shite cause him even to WINCE in doing so, I will peel you all like ugly four-limbed pointy-eared BANANAS, do you understand me?!" 

They looked at each other as if trying to determine if Harry's authority over them extended that far. 

Then looked at Harry again and clearly made the decision that they'd better not piss him off any more. 

As they prepared to transport the suffering Draco, Harry muttered, "If Lucius hasn't left the goddamn rooms I'm going to fucking run him through with a butter knife." 

He heard Draco suck in a breath. But not in pain, this time. 

"Harry-- fuck, Harry, we don't have to go back there. One of the guest rooms should be--" 

"No." Harry said it so hard that Draco fell silent. "I will NOT let him think he won. I will NOT let him think I am too goddamn fucking TRAUMATIZED to go back to a set of fucking rooms. I have been through too...goddamn...much in this lifetime to be frightened off by memories of what happened in a ROOM." 

After a moment, Draco dared to speak up: "We'll find that flat in London." 

"Goddamn right we will. But not today." He fixed his husband with a look that was almost scary to see. "We are not running from this house like fucking ferrets. We will wait until you're okay and then we'll go find a place and when your father asks us if we have a spare key we want him to keep we'll give it to him but we won't tell him that that's the key that opens the door to the goddamn firepit trap that we're going to install just for HIM." 

Draco stared at him. Then managed a tight little smile. "Bravo." 


Some fucking honeymoon, Draco thought three weeks later. 

For days, mere movement had been agony. Air currents alone were enough to make his raw skin scream. It had taken a week before he could even bear to walk to the bathroom, much less put on clothing. 

And Harry had been with him through the whole thing. 

It wasn't any way he would ever have chosen to find out, but he certainly knew one thing: this was love, all right. All those who'd suggested-- including his Fucking Bastard Father-- that he and Harry were only in it for the shagging were being proved Ever So Goddamn Wrong. 

Not that there'd been any shagging even after he was on the mend. Being able to walk and get dressed had been the greatest mercy, but that didn't mean he was ready for the horizontal mambo yet. 

Which meant he and Harry had had a lot of time to talk. 

Strangely enough, the stage where all the accusations-- I told you your father wasn't to be trusted/ told you you should never have wanted to get married to me/ told you you were the most stubborn prat on the planet-- were supposed to fly had been incredibly brief, and they'd spent far more time on the mutual apology stage: I'm sorry no I'm sorry what do you possibly have to be sorry about it's my fault no it's my fault. That, they'd gone over and over for days. 

The hardest part of the whole thing, harder by far than even lying there on his back waiting for the effects of the potion to wear off so he could take a goddamn piss without assistance and suffering, was the part he and Harry had had to spell out, unable to dress it up in vague concepts because it couldn't just lie there unsaid. 

Draco knew exactly what his FBF had intended. Suspected he'd done it. 

His FBF would have made very sure that Harry came his brains out as well. 

Draco had had to tell Harry that he knew that. And that that was his FBF's fault, NOT Harry's. 

Harry had not wanted to give him details-- Draco wasn't sure he could possibly have heard them without going, "Ew!" a hundred times, this was his father they were talking about-- but he told him enough to know that it was true.  

And there had been tears. 

But his FBF hadn't broken Harry. Hadn't. 

And hadn't broken them, either. 

If that had been his intention, it had failed big time. Draco had been dead serious about giving up his family name for Harry's. All his FBF had done was unite them against him. 

The day Draco realized the potion's effects were starting to abate had made him want to sing hallelujahs, but even that didn't nearly approach the incredible relief he'd felt when Harry had kissed him with real passion later the same day, pressing his own erection carefully, ever so carefully against his side and moaning that he couldn't wait until Draco was ready for their usual mattress antics. 

While he still felt his FBF deserved death for all this, it was good to know that even he couldn't defeat Harry's long-cultivated resilience. 

Three weeks later, he was feeling well enough to start the Great London Newlywed Flat Search with Harry. 

And one thing more besides. 

He'd woken up with morning wood. Well, that wasn't unusual, given the events three weeks ago; he'd had a stiff one about 99% of the time, while he was still under the potion's effects. But this morning it was natural, healthy, hello-there-aren't-we-perky morning wood. 

And touching it had felt rather nice. Not quite ready for the sexual Olympics, he thought, but definitely nice. 

Damn, it was good to be back. 

He would have liked to have asked Harry if he wanted to help him take care of the happily resurrected Little Draco, but Harry wasn't there just at the moment. He thought he heard water running in the bathroom, so he thought he would wait. 

But Harry didn't return for some time, and by that time Draco was regretfully wishing his erection down-- now he was needing the bathroom. 

He found Harry in it, sitting on the floor next to the toilet. 

"Harry? What-- Harry, are you...?" He looked positively green, and almost... almost like he'd been crying. Crap. Draco had another one of those fifty-times-a-day moments of He is so going to die regarding his FBF. "You okay?" he said, trying to gauge whether Harry needed him to stay or would prefer to be alone. 

But nothing could ever have prepared him for what Harry said next. 


"Draco, I think... I think I might be pregnant." 


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