Rating: R (maybe a mild NC-17, I'm not sure)
WIP (I think)
Summary: Passion. Obsession. Addiction. Lucius Malfoy being the object of these emotions cannot mean anything but danger. Control might not be the only thing Sirius is about to lose.
A.N.: I suck at summaries :p. My very first Siri/Lu ^^ . I really enjoyed writing it, and I think I'm happy with the result, but please let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always very welcome ^^.
Chapter One: Ingestion
How do you know if you’re in danger ? I used to ask myself as a child. My parents told me you could always use magic to harm whenever you were in danger. So I kept exploring the concept. I discovered the definition when I was no older than eight and playing in my father’s potions cabinet.
It took the doctors three days to get the fluids out of my body and it took another three days for me to recover after my father’s beating.
Danger was playing games with things that were not to be meddled with.
Like evil minds. Twisted minds.
For some reason I always loved danger. A delicious self-destructive passion that was bound to lead to as delicious and destructive disasters.
But I couldn’t care less. I liked to cheat death, dance with devils, trespass enemy borders…and sleep with evil blond haired men. Blond haired men that were absolutely not to be meddled with.
Love for danger turned into passion for him. The red hot flames that were in his touch could turn into steel white pain when nails dug in my shoulder. One wrong move could be fatal.
Yet, my mouth opens when his lips draw near and my arms clench around his frame, like a drowning man’s desperate grip, when he drags me to the guest bedroom. One silencing charm on the door and walls and when he points his wand at me I am never quite sure what to expect. My heart skips a beat. Even my messed up mind comprehends that this man is perfectly capable of using a Cruciatus curse. In fact it would not be the first time. Perhaps it was common knowledge that Mr Malfoy liked his bedmates screaming in agony before he came.
But not even days of bloodred wrists from being tied to the bedpost nor aching bones ever stopped me from coming back. He knows. He knows he has got me wrapped around his finger (and waist). He knows I will spread my legs upon his drawing near.
I am not a whore. I am Sirius Black. I am a pawn. A pawn in the many games I am playing. Some more dangerous than the others. Lucius is not my lover but his bed is the only one I share. I hate him. Yet nothing prevents me from playing a game of love whenever Lucius Malfoy is a guest at Black Manor.
Fingers would ghost at my waist. “Bedroom, now.” A husky voice, that would urge me over the edge in no time.
A smirk. “Did you miss me?”
He had no idea. No idea of the nights I spent squirming in my bed in yearning.
When I would show in his rooms later that day there was no way he could hide his satisfaction. “Impatient, are we?” But really, he was the one impatient. Though he would not drop the mask yet. His movements are still calm and in control.
He slowly works on the catches of my clothing. Laying out his feast. And unless you notice the burning in his eyes, there is no warning as to what is coming next. After all clothing is removed. Not a scrap of dignity. Nothing to remind him that I’m a black. “Most noble and ancient”.
Just flesh and bones. We are all equal in bed as we are equal in death. Or not entirely. He cannot forget that I am a teenager and more than ten years his junior. Though he always seems to forget everything else, like the fact that I am…was inexperienced. I was to learn quickly in his hands. But he is a…marvelous teacher.
Who am I exactly? I hear my name, camouflaged in a low grunt… “Sirius…”
His. Yours. Eternally. No more me, mine, I. That was given up the moment I spread my legs for him the first time.
No! I was forced! I didn’t choose it! Didn’t want it! Maybe now it’s different, but back then it was not me, not my wish.
He forced me. I did not have a choice.
“I can’t help it, father. It was the Sorting Hat. It was the Hat’s decision! I didn’t have a choice.”
“You’re a Black. You top rank the wizarding world. You always have a choice. And for your choices, you must be punished.”
I didn’t reply “yes, father” as he would have wanted me to. But I didn’t argue either. I didn’t protest when he drew his wand. The game was easy, when you knew the rules. And this was definitely the silent part.
It was my choice. This was my bidding. I gave my self to him and am performing that gift again and again. Though I am afraid of what I am giving and what I am receiving in return.
The fingers under his gloves are cold and rough. Yet they are well practiced in the art of pleasure…and pain.
His index runs down my shoulder, going down my arm, and lower, to my waist. My naked skin cringes, but if feels so good.
“Your father despises you, but has he ever seen you naked?”
Not the past few years, no. But though my father’s every bit a bastard, I highly doubt his sexual preferences are as sadistic as yours, Malfoy. That is what I would have answered, had I been in a slightly different position… A bit further away from his wand, maybe. Though he might have thought my comment funny. He always had a weird sense of humour.
“Would he like it, if he knew what was going on behind these doors? In his own house?” Lucius asks. But since it’s obviously a rhetorical question, I remain silent
“Would he like the fact that I’m treating his son like a slut?”
He didn’t really think I was going to answer that one.
“Perhaps he would… I heard him mentioning only the other day that you were in desperate need to be taught something about respecting your superiors…”
Wishful thinking, Malfoy. You are not superior. You are dirt.
His lips catch mine in something that is not quite a kiss, more like he’s tearing my lips in to little pieces, tiny lip-atoms or something. It’s painful. Yet I can’t keep my breathing from hitching in my throat, a small sound of pleasure escaping my mouth. He didn’t miss that. No he didn’t.
“Tell me how much you do not want me to stop…”
He’s talkative today. He’s not usually. I don’t particularly like this change. I’m used to him taking full control leaving me to hate and enjoy it in silence.
This is degrading. I don’t want to give him the pleasure of knowing that I am far gone, that my body is tense in ache and yearning. I do not want to beg. Yet I find I have no choice.
“I want you…” my voice is a whisper. I sound young and breakable. Innocent? “Please…” it’s spoken softly. But he didn’t miss it.
I feel : accomplished