A/N: Hello! ^_^ I'm working hard, darlings. In everything. On everything. So pardon me if I don't get to your favorite fic right away.
Thank you ostia, mystica, Minna, Redhawk, Fleur, Couscous Gril, Pepperjack Candy, MiniMe, Annclaire, and Rehanna.
For the record, I imagine Lucius to be in his late 30s to early 40s. A lot of people were asking about that.
***
This is just a bit too bizarre for me. Break up the death eaters? Lucius Malfoy- working with Dumbledore, teaching defense against dark arts in the guise of my dead fathers' best friend, who willingly agreed to help, and plotting against Lord Voldemort. Yeah, right. And Voldemort loves widows and orphans...for breakfast.
"You're joking."
"Have I ever lied to you, Harry?" By now the Polyjuice potion, (I assume it was Polyjuice potion) had worn off and Lucius's normal voice had returned. It should be illegal to have a voice like that- rich and dark and deep and heavy with temptation. It was like Nature specifically crafted him with seduction in mind.
"To me? No. To others? Constantly."
"Trust me."
"Why should I?"
"You want to."
"I want a lot of things." Like you. In leather. On top of me. In chains. Christ, am I really that kinky? C'mon, Potter, pull your mind out of the gutter long enough to figure out what the hell is going on.
"You owe your life to me," he said dully.
"Am I supposed to thank you for that?"
"It is customary."
"It's also customary to lie and say you'll call." A quiet understanding lit up his eyes.
"Is that what this is about? What was I supposed to do?"
"The entire thing was wrong. It was all wrong. We should never have- I mean-" Damn it. Not tears. Anything but tears. He stood and put his arms around me. "What are you doing?"
"Proving that what seems wrong can sometimes feel right." He kissed me, lips closing over mine. It was a special kind of death. It hurt so exquisitely. Why are moths continually drawn to a flame? Maybe they like being burnt.
"That's just it. It feels right, but it isn't," I murmured against his lips.
"Who says that it's wrong?"
"It's illegal."
"Don't care."
"You're married."
"I don't have to be."
"I'm a guy." He chuckled.
"I'm fully aware of that."
"Voldemort will kill you."
"He'd have killed me anyway. it was only a matter of time." I was at a loss.
"What do you want?"
"you." Small word. Vast implications. Naughty mental picture. How'd that get in there?
"Me?"
"Just you. Here. With me."
"If you want me then take me." I'm tired of resisting, tired of fighting, tired of this bone-deep ache to feel him.
This is wrong. This is so wrong. But how can it be wrong when every fiber of my being just wants more? "Do you know what it does to me to see you everyday and not be able to touch you?" he asked, pushing his hips against mine. I moaned softly.
"No."
"It destroys me- to watch you come in, to watch you leave sometimes without so much as a backward glance."
"You lie," I whispered.
"I could. But why lie to you?"
"You just want to get into my pants."
"I'm already there."
"So it would seem." He smiled, hands moving teasingly up my thighs.
"Dumbledore is going to hate me in the morning."
"Sirius will kill you if he finds out."
"I'd rather die later then let you leave here and die now."
"Since when did you become sentimental?"
"Since I learned to hate you."
"How can hating me make you sentimental?"
"You talk entirely too much."
"Make me shut up then."
"Oh, I don't want you to shut up. I just want you to stop talking. There will be plenty of time for that in the morning."
"What do we do from now until the morning?" He merely smiled.
***
If I'm getting too sentimental, hit me with a sensibilty stick, k? Please be kind and review!
love,
J. Silver
Thank you ostia, mystica, Minna, Redhawk, Fleur, Couscous Gril, Pepperjack Candy, MiniMe, Annclaire, and Rehanna.
For the record, I imagine Lucius to be in his late 30s to early 40s. A lot of people were asking about that.
***
This is just a bit too bizarre for me. Break up the death eaters? Lucius Malfoy- working with Dumbledore, teaching defense against dark arts in the guise of my dead fathers' best friend, who willingly agreed to help, and plotting against Lord Voldemort. Yeah, right. And Voldemort loves widows and orphans...for breakfast.
"You're joking."
"Have I ever lied to you, Harry?" By now the Polyjuice potion, (I assume it was Polyjuice potion) had worn off and Lucius's normal voice had returned. It should be illegal to have a voice like that- rich and dark and deep and heavy with temptation. It was like Nature specifically crafted him with seduction in mind.
"To me? No. To others? Constantly."
"Trust me."
"Why should I?"
"You want to."
"I want a lot of things." Like you. In leather. On top of me. In chains. Christ, am I really that kinky? C'mon, Potter, pull your mind out of the gutter long enough to figure out what the hell is going on.
"You owe your life to me," he said dully.
"Am I supposed to thank you for that?"
"It is customary."
"It's also customary to lie and say you'll call." A quiet understanding lit up his eyes.
"Is that what this is about? What was I supposed to do?"
"The entire thing was wrong. It was all wrong. We should never have- I mean-" Damn it. Not tears. Anything but tears. He stood and put his arms around me. "What are you doing?"
"Proving that what seems wrong can sometimes feel right." He kissed me, lips closing over mine. It was a special kind of death. It hurt so exquisitely. Why are moths continually drawn to a flame? Maybe they like being burnt.
"That's just it. It feels right, but it isn't," I murmured against his lips.
"Who says that it's wrong?"
"It's illegal."
"Don't care."
"You're married."
"I don't have to be."
"I'm a guy." He chuckled.
"I'm fully aware of that."
"Voldemort will kill you."
"He'd have killed me anyway. it was only a matter of time." I was at a loss.
"What do you want?"
"you." Small word. Vast implications. Naughty mental picture. How'd that get in there?
"Me?"
"Just you. Here. With me."
"If you want me then take me." I'm tired of resisting, tired of fighting, tired of this bone-deep ache to feel him.
This is wrong. This is so wrong. But how can it be wrong when every fiber of my being just wants more? "Do you know what it does to me to see you everyday and not be able to touch you?" he asked, pushing his hips against mine. I moaned softly.
"No."
"It destroys me- to watch you come in, to watch you leave sometimes without so much as a backward glance."
"You lie," I whispered.
"I could. But why lie to you?"
"You just want to get into my pants."
"I'm already there."
"So it would seem." He smiled, hands moving teasingly up my thighs.
"Dumbledore is going to hate me in the morning."
"Sirius will kill you if he finds out."
"I'd rather die later then let you leave here and die now."
"Since when did you become sentimental?"
"Since I learned to hate you."
"How can hating me make you sentimental?"
"You talk entirely too much."
"Make me shut up then."
"Oh, I don't want you to shut up. I just want you to stop talking. There will be plenty of time for that in the morning."
"What do we do from now until the morning?" He merely smiled.
***
If I'm getting too sentimental, hit me with a sensibilty stick, k? Please be kind and review!
love,
J. Silver
