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