Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.

A/N: Written for the 2018 hp-may-madness challenge's Day 5 prompt, come with me.

And the Knight Speaks

1. Robe

With a flourish Lucius draped a velvet crimson robe over Harry's shoulders, declaring the young man as his new lord. Satisfied with his work, he knelt like a knight before Harry, who nevertheless felt more uncomfortable than ever. When the man took his hand and kissed it, Harry fought off the urge to pull his hand away. This snake of a man was the one he wanted for a lover. Turning his back on Lucius Malfoy was not an option—unless he wished to be stabbed in the back.

"The Malfoys have been serving kings and queens for centuries, and from this moment on you will be our new king. I, Lucius Malfoy, shall be your knight and your loyal subject." His lips curving into a graceful smile, Lucius stood up and led Harry to the bed. "It is time for you to go to bed, my liege."

After much teasing and frolicking, Harry found himself lying on his back and Lucius on top of him, kissing him and caressing him and provoking him. The crimson robe lay ruffled beneath his naked body. Everything had happened in such a natural sequence of events that he stopped thinking about right from wrong. For one hazy moment, he forgot they were once enemies, he forgot this man had committed despicable deeds, and he forgot this man had a wife.

He coiled his arms around Lucius, his hands tracing the contour of Lucius' back. Perhaps Lucius merely wanted to dress him up as the pauper king before undressing him and taking him in bed, a game to satisfy the man's fetish and megalomania. Nevertheless, Harry's train of thought fled him when Lucius nibbled his upper lip and placed a warm hand on his thigh. Slowly but surely Lucius' hand eased Harry's thighs apart, and yielding to the man's wish, Harry opened up to his self-proclaimed knight.

By the time Lucius climbed off him, Harry was too listless to bother pulling the robe over himself. Without a word Lucius threw on a dressing gown, lit a cigarette, and settled down on the bed once more. Those grey eyes of his were not looking at Harry; they were squinting at the shadows and the frigid moon outside the window. The heat and the pure white bliss that enveloped Harry only moments ago had deserted him, and he was left in the cold.

"You just want me to be your puppet so that you can play the puppet-master." Harry's voice came out soft and devoid of accusation, as though he was stating the fact and nothing more.

"True. But I have taken a liking to you." Lucius took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaled, and ran a finger along the contour of Harry's cheek. "Besides, you came to me knowing what I am. What does that say about you?"

What did he see in Lucius Malfoy? Harry had been asking himself the same question, and he had yet to find an answer beyond the superficial. "Other than I fancy a man old enough to be my dad and I lust after his body?"

Lucius raised an eyebrow in amusement, and a winsome smile flitted onto those shapely lips of his, lips that were made for kisses. "Well, there is that." He moved his cigarette away from the sheet and flicked away the ashes. "You are welcome to my body for as long as I can keep up with your youthful vitality and please you."

"Liar."

I'm the one trying to keep up with you and your healthy appetite, Harry thought as he reached out for Lucius, who did not resist his advance. Pulling Lucius on top of him, he caught Lucius' mouth with his mouth and drank in the taste of the man he had come to desire: bitter and smoky and full of sin.


Finis?