Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/78558.
Rating:
Explicit
Archive Warning:
Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
Category:
M/M
Fandom:
Harry_Potter_-_Rowling
Relationship:
Lucius/Harry
Character:
Lucius_Malfoy, Harry_Potter
Additional Tags:
Alternate_Universe, dark!fic, slave!fic, Dubious_Consent, Angst,
Chanslash, Torture, Stockholm_Syndrome, Breathplay, Bloodplay, D/s, S/M,
Bondage, Anal_Sex, Oral_Sex, Surprises
Collections:
Slavefic_Central
Stats:
Published: 2010-04-08 Words: 3157
****** Touch Defiles ******
by ms_anthrophy
Summary
Lucius Malfoy appreciates Harry Potter ...in his own way.
Not canon-compliant after Goblet of Fire. I am not very particular
with time here but Harry is fifteen. Aside from the warnings that are
already there, the story also contains something else that can be
seen as kinda nasty but telling it would spoil the idea. (If you want
to check it out, it's in the notes, at the end of the story.)
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and various big companies own the
Potterverse and all the characters. (Those Muggles' delusions of
grandeur grow somewhat tiresome. -Lucius) I don't. Also, they make
the money, not me. Not that I'd mind, pornography wants to be free!
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Touch Defiles
It would be an utter lie to say that Lucius Malfoy does not appreciate
Gryffindor courage. Instead, he considers it to be a delicacy. Young Harry
Potter is a true hero indeed and therefore a banquet fit for a king.
"Got me now, you bloody bastard. Satisfied?"
"It may be so, Harry."
"It's your fucking happy day, you posturing slime of a Voldemort's arse-licker!
What do you want then? Torture? Rape? Murder?"
"Taken in count that it was I who saved you from experiencing the whole scale
of aforementioned practises in hands of rabid Death Eaters, I find your lack of
gratitude rather inappropriate."
Lucius' eyes are cold and his smile is like razor blades, yet he does nothing
except running one gloved hand down Harry's neck. The Gryffindor's Golden Boy
wouldwelcome a taste of pain now, just because waiting for it is so much worse.
He imagines a thousand messy deaths for himself. Little fool.
Harry is at least wise enough to understand that Muggle fighting would be a
rather poor choice against an experienced dark wizard. Very good, as Lucius
would consider holding him at wand-point rather déclassé. The boy's rage, born
out of helplessness, eats him inside like acid, hurting worse than a Cruciatus
curse. Well, maybe not, but the aristocratic blond thinks that using an
Unforgivable right at the start would be 'overdoing it'.
Lucius leads Harry to Malfoy Manor's dungeons, a little smile on his lips when
his captive huffs angrily at the sight of the torture room, clearly despising
that such luxury and beauty come along with the promise of agony. How rude.
There is a mosaic of endless Danse Macabre around the walls, made of alabaster
and obsidian. Finely crafted serpent-shaped chains hang on the walls and the
half-dried blood on the floor adds something beautifully real to the
atmosphere. The merrily dancing skeletons grin and Lucius cannot but return the
expression. Poor boy.
"If you do not mind, I would prefer you nude right now. To be honest, also if
you do mind, Harry."
"Rape is it, then? Make me, you filthy degenerate!"
Hate, the first refuge from fear. Lucius sighs and backhands the boy, knocking
him down on the black marble floor.
"Manners, Harry."
Green eyes burn with wrath and contempt and somewhere behind that is hope to
make the older wizard angry. Harry's only way of fighting back now; to break
the posturing elitist bastard's calm content and send back even a slight bit of
the pain Harry is feeling now. Too bad that Lucius is in complete control of
himself. Even when he hits Harry so hard that blood and snot is flowing from
his nose, it is like dancing to a complicated tune only the Malfoy patriarch
can hear himself.
"You are perfectly aware that I can cast Cruciatus on you until you plead to
take my cock in your mouth or your arse for just a moment without the agony.
Why would you choose to use up your strength so soon? Maybe you want to give
in?"
Lucius' drawl is silky and soothing when he presents Harry a dare. His lips
curl into a playful smirk. A cat would smile like that when looking at a mouse.
A cat contemplating how it wants to play now when the little creature is
bleeding, first wounds from sharp claws.
Give in? Harry curses under his breath, pulls the over-large sweater over his
head and throws it in front of his captor as an answer. Lucius' eyes shine
silver in malicious joy and his mouth wets with every garment shed and tossed
angrily on the floor. This fight-or-flight-reaction, this misguided courage
arouses him even more than Harry's adolescent body. The boy is simply delicious
with hands crossed on his chest and trying to not be aware of his nudity.
"A true Gryffindor, I see. It seems that you are not frightened, dear Harry?"
"I've fought Voldemort. Your lord. Twice. Like I would fear his lap-dog? You
wish."
"Do I?"
It is not yet time for answers. Also, it is so much more efficient to show than
tell.
"Petrificus Totalus. Mobilicorpus."
The second spell keeps the black-haired Half-blood from falling on the floor.
Frozen into a statue of defiance, Harry's green eyes burn with rage. Lucius
throws his black, centaur-skin jacket to the floor with careful abandon, baring
pale flesh, flawless except for the Dark Mark that only adds to the perfection
of centuries of selective breeding. He walks around Harry, examining him like
he is a fine, new-acquired sculpture. Lucius' patrician features betray no true
emotions, his lust is completely hidden under a veil of casual appreciation.
"Revelio. Patefacio. Mobilis Clausus."
A simple iron door appears on the opposite wall. A sharp 'click' breaks the
silence and the door opens. A Dementor floats into the room, reeking of an
opened grave, of a week-old corpse. Lucius stands just behind Harry, his eyes a
grey void of Schadenfreude. He knows that Harry would gasp in horror if he
could.
The living nightmare reaches a rotten hand towards the naked boy and Lucius
revels in the way how Harry's Quidditch-toned body would move, were he not
frozen under the body-bind curse. The platinum-blond Pureblood's drawl is soft
and gentle as he draws his wand and utters a spell.
"Expecto Patronum."
Silvery fire emerges from the tip of his wand and takes the shape of a shining,
completely white snow leopard. The predatory feline walks lazily towards the
slithering creature, sending it back against the wall for a moment. Then
Lucius' Patronus withdraws, allowing the Dementor to lick the surface of
Harry's mind.
The snow leopard is like Lucius' reflection. It moves with a natural grace and
there is smooth, calculated cruelty in how it walks away and lets the Dementor
draw near. The creature breathes despair and hisses in hunger -and just at the
moment when it has got a little taste of Harry's happy memories, the Patronus
leaps between them and forces it to back down. Again and again.
Voldemort rises from the cauldron and runs his death-white fingers along his
new body, every movement abhorrently lustful. Cedric Diggory touches the
Portkey and dies, one time after another. Lily screams and her lifeless body
falls to the floor, again and again.
Lucius walks closer to Harry and hugs him, his erection, very visible through
his black velvet trousers due to a certain hereditary trait, pressed
briefly against the black-haired Gryffindor's arse. The man breathes deep the
lascivious flavour of cold sweat on Harry's skin. Lucius steps back and
gestures his pet Dementor to claim its prey and then sends his Patronus to deny
the prize from the rotting shadow. The snow leopard leaps and forces the
Dementor back to its grimy cell.
"Propincuus Clausus. Abscondo."
The door closes and melts into the wall again. Lucius caresses Harry's left
cheek and chin, his delicate, long fingers travelling slowly downwards. He
allows a mildly satisfied sigh to escape from his thin lips. Lucius' eyes,
incomprehensible in endless shades of cloudy grey, meet the boy's emerald-green
gaze. There is something shaken and afraid behind the surface of hate and Harry
so doesn't want Lucius to see it.
"I hope I was able to provide a sufficient challenge for you, my little hero.
Finite Incantatem."
The horror of the rotting spirit-form, memories and the complete vulnerability
is too much. Harry tries to fight the forgiving darkness that overcomes his
mind but there is no chance to succeed. Losing his consciousness, he collapses
in Lucius' arms.
*****
Lucius allows Harry a mattress and a green duvet to keep him warm in one of the
rooms in the dungeon. House elves come to give food for the boy, nourishing and
sometimes even tasty. Lucius doesn't want to torment his toy too often, at
least not directly. It would just be counterproductive.
Harry does fight indeed, not caring about his helpless situation. He spits
hatred at the pain Lucius presents Harry with. There are so many different
instruments -of which Lucius favours a mildly poisonous snake-whip, its little
barbs leaving Harry feel dull ache for hours after the blond wizard has smeared
healing potion on the red, angry welts on Harry's skin.
Even better is the plain silver knife, beautiful and so sharp that it seems to
cut air when Lucius flips it elegantly in his moon-pale fingers before sinking
the blade into the Half-blood boy's unwilling flesh. So sharp that when he cuts
Harry's skin, it does not even hurt at first. But the pain comes in a second
when the wounds open into wide, deep gaps, releasing the bright red streams of
sweet blood. Seeing the tissues, muscle and fat, so suddenly, makes Harry gasp
and gag from disgust every time.
These sounds combined with the drip-drip-drip of blood on the black marble
dungeon floor make Lucius half-delirious with lust and it takes every bit of
his self-control to utter the potent healing charm. He would love to take Harry
there and then, dig his perfectly manicured fingernails deep into the open
wounds and fuck the boy raw against the cold, damp wall but it is not yet the
time. Lucius takes his time to appreciate every different flavour of the little
saviour's downfall.
Oh yes, that plain fear is pleasant. Still, it pales in comparison to the
horror in Harry's eyes the next night when Lucius introduces him to Adstringo
Suffocato. The invisible magical cord does not hurt but it clings tight enough
around the unmarked throat that there is no air to breathe. Harry's eyesight
darkens and Lucius coaxes the first, almost soundless pleas from the boy's
lips.
He lets the spell wane and enjoys the results. The absence of pain is most
convenient now when the cord is gone, as it makes Harry feel like it never was
there. He loathes himself and his surrender so much that he had nothing vile
enough to say. Lucius smiles with devious affection and licks Harry's tears
from his flushed cheeks.
*****
Lucius gives Harry another taste of his pet Dementor. This time the Gryffindor
boy spends a whole night chained to a table like a sacrifice to dark gods with
no names. The shapeless horror's shadow oozes through the walls. Harry knows it
cannot reach him completely, he knows that all this is a long road leading
somewhere he never wanted to go.
How viciously Harry ever cursed Lucius during those excruciating hours, in the
morning light he welcomes the aristocratic blond with open arms and trembling
hands, seeking comfort from the lean, warm body.
Then, just then it does not matter that Harry knows exactly that Lucius is
responsible of his misery, or that there is something inside him that had just
started to break. The only thing in his mind is the radiance of proud Lucifer
tangled with him, moist lips drinking little, strangled sounds from Harry's dry
mouth. Falling together, down, down, down.
"Don't... ever... please..."
"How could I refuse as you ask so nicely? You will never see the creature
again."
Lucius' touch is slow and sensual, like he is drawing complicated patterns on
Harry's skin. Long, moon-pale hair brushes against the boy's bare shoulders
soothingly and it feels too good to be alive. Soft fingertips ghost on Harry's
hardening cock and he whimpers in uncertain pleasure.
The cruelty in Lucius' grey eyes is veiled in compassion like knives hidden
under soft velvet when he kisses Harry again. Every single move he makes is
perfectly calculated, caring, tender and most of all, undemanding. You get more
flies with honey than with vinegar and now the flies make their nest inside the
young Gryffindor's mind.
"You respond to my care rather eagerly, Harry. Considering the circumstances, I
still want you to know that it is not my desire to force you. Do tell if you
wish me to stop and I will."
Harry knows that Lucius doesn't lie, at least not here and not now. Just one
word and the aristocratic blond will step away, leave him clean -and cold and
alone like he was for what felt like eternity. No. Harry doesn't want to drive
this shining incubus away. No matter what the price, not now. Lucius has made
sure of it.
A few hours ago Harry's existence was a descent in endless nightmare, hopeless
but clear. Now the young Gryffindor feels all fluid-like, hazy and so needy it
hurts and he clings unto Lucius like his life depends on him. Oh, it does, and
the Death Eater savours the moment when the little messiah comes all over their
entwined bodies, whimpering most deliciously.
The next day Harry wakes up in a soft bed instead of a blood-stained mattress
and damp dungeon. He feels bile rising in his throat from the memory of crying
his release against Lucius' shoulder. How he had betrayed himself. He had not
fought, he hadn't even bloody told the arrogant bastard to go fuck himself.
Harry screams to silence the voice inside his head but it doesn't help. There
may be an escape route from the Manor but there's no way for Harry to get away
from himself.
Lucius sips absinthe and watches Harry's anguish through a one-sided mirror.
How naive the little hero is, believing he can wear his weaknesses on his
sleeve and remain clean inside. How little he still knows, believing that
Lucius cannot get inside his skin again.
*****
Determined to fight a losing battle against his captor, refusing to give in
until he eventually does, Harry is irresistible. Lucius revels in the
boy's descent, the taste of unsullied, virginal flesh. He is drunk with the
boy's aching need and self-hatred, the hands that push the pale wizard away
while the boy's cock is rock hard and glistening with precome. The confused
disgust in Harry's eyes when he cannot deny that Lucius is beautiful.
It doesn't matter how fiercely Harry tries not to respond to this intoxicating
rapture Lucius coaxes from his body and his mind. Oh yes, he does fight and
that makes every time Lucius draws Harry on the verge of orgasm so much
sweeter. Every single frustrated whine kills a bit of him inside. There is
freedom in slavery and Harry has never known freedom before. The agony of guilt
made only for heroes fades away and comes back again.
Time passes and Harry's self-loathing becomes a rare treat. Lucius craves it
like a drug, like melting honey with opium, and he forces it on the surface
with one humiliation after another. He finally grants himself the decadent
bliss of taking Harry's arse for the first time. Not much a determined saviour,
Harry squirms against Lucius' lean body, pressed against a wall. He pleads for
the platinum-blond wizard to receive his virgin arse.
"What do you want, little hero? What do you need?"
"You... your cock inside me. Lucius? Please?"
"Such a whore."
Harry's Gryffindor stubbornness and his inability to accept change is not
there. There is only the Boy Who Lived to become Lucius' little slut. The
ecstasy. The agony. The shame in unspoken curses on the boy's lips when he
climaxes, the silvery-blond wizard's cock deep inside his arse.
Harry tries to hold his tears back, silent because now he hates himself more
than Lucius. You can expect anything sick and perverted from the depraved
bastard but he himself, he should be pure. Strong enough to resist temptation
and yet he offered his virginity freely.
Harry can't even deny that there is a part inside him that wants, no, needs
Lucius. Glorious Lucifer, the most beautiful of angels, fallen with pride and
shining with lascivious darkness. The only thing Harry hopes is that Lucius
would not come to him, all smooth edges and suave Malfoy charm because deep
inside the boy knows that he can't resist him any more.
*****
Only two weeks pass and Harry accepts his role as Lucius' fuck toy. A month has
gone by and there is no difference between pleasure and pain to him, only the
ecstasy gained whenever the decadent aristocrat feasts on his body.
Broken and re-made into something Harry would have loathed if he still was
himself. He isn't. There is no need for restraints or threats. No more the
Gryffindor's Golden Boy, Harry is lying, legs spread, on his back in the black
silk sheets of a four-poster bed. Lucius watches him calmly, momentarily
ignoring his own arousal. It is almost a shame...
He tangles his fingers in the black, unruly hair and tugs Harry's head
backwards. The boy's gaze is fixed on Lucius' lean form, his lips parted in
wordless craving. Harry takes Lucius' cock deep into his throat, each lick of
his tongue almost reverent. He burns from the touch of dark incubus, burns
slowly into ashes.
Lucius fucks Harry, rough and hard, and the boy moans in ecstasy. He thrusts
his arse shamelessly against the blond Pureblood to get more of his cock inside
him. There is nothing left from his hatred or his 'destiny' to fight Voldemort.
It is like he was born to become willing flesh for Lucius to use and abuse.
Harry's eyes are wide open with a burning need to please. The dessert.
"Who are you? What are you, now?"
"Y-your slut. Yours."
"Yes, you are mine indeed. Avada Kedavra."
A silent death, Harry's arse clenches around Lucius' cock, fever-hot and
impossibly tight. A petite mort with a hiss of pleasure like
Parseltongue when the demoniacally beautiful wizard fills the body of his prey
with his come for the last time.
Killed in the throes of passion, Harry's face is frozen in bliss. It is like a
burial mask Lucius has made for the dead boy out of what he twisted and made
his. Which, in the end, was everything.
Perfectly manicured long fingers caress Harry's face, the lightning-bolt scar
slightly darker than the death-white skin. Lucius closes the glassy eyes that
stare into nothingness. The pale wizard inhales deep the scent of sex and
death.
The little messiah, he ended up as sacrifice for no one. Lucius orders the
house elves to dispose Harry's remains discreetly, promising that they will
pray for the death curse if their work is not completely perfect.
Tomorrow there is going to be a nameless grave in the Malfoy Manor's gardens
and Harry's corpse will feed plants that yield raw material for potions
forbidden -and mostly forgotten- by the Wizarding World. It is a small part of
what the Malfoys are, nobility bred with carefully calculated precision,
celebrated in incest and denying nothing from themselves. Lucius' soft drawl is
the only sound in the luxurious bedroom.
"Festivals end as festivals must. Still, it is almost a pity."
Lucius brushes stray locks of silvery-blond hair off his angular, moon-pale
face and sighs, thoroughly satisfied.
"Almost."
-Fin-
End Notes
A/N:
In case you are here for the spoiler: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH.
I originally meant to write a short ficlet for Valentine's Day but it
decided to grow. Great hail and epic "Thank you hon" for Luci from
betaing and being generally awesome. Also, sincere thanks to Sarelon
for helping with Lucius' Patronus. The title is filched from Death in
June's song. As always, all kind of feedback is kindly asked for.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!