5.
Harry's heart hammered against his ribs, as though he'd swallowed a chocolate frog spiked with pepper-up potion. Malfoy arranged him on the wide bed, pressing him face-first into sheets that smelled of jasmine, sliding a silk-sheathed pillow beneath his hips and pulling his unresisting limbs apart.
Perfectly manicured hands roamed his body, stroking, pinching, scratching, and no matter how he twisted, they followed. After that came lips, then tongue, and Malfoy had undressed at some point, for his hot skin covered Harry's like a blanket of sweaty satin.
Barring the occasional wet dream, he'd never considered being intimate with another man before, but the fact that it was Malfoy far outweighed the fact that it was a man kissing and touching and licking him. When the hot, wet tongue slid down his spine and passed his tailbone without slowing, Harry could not keep silent. "Please, I've never-- I'm not--" His tongue felt heavy and clumsy and he swore.
Malfoy chuckled, and his breath ghosted over Harry's arse, first burning, then cooling. Strong fingers spread his cheeks, and the breath spilled into more intimate places. "Been saving yourself for me, have you? Don't tell me no one has been here before. Not even your own fingers?"
"I'm not gay."
"Why not?"
Harry had no answer, and even if he had, it would have died under the slick probe caressing his hole.
*Malfoy's tongue,* he thought, and the invader pushed, seeking-- *Fuck! Lucius Malfoy's tongue is up my ass. Oh, god, this can't be happening.* He tried to scream, but his throat refused to obey, and only a high moan emerged, broken in two as his breath hitched.
Malfoy chuckled indulgently, as though he'd done something unbearably cute, and replaced the tongue with something slicker, longer, and firmer. It hurt at first, but then it began to move, curling, probing, twisting, stroking his insides. To his shame, his cock hardened.
"You're enjoying yourself," Lucius said, his free hand fondling Harry's balls. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, darling. Everyone is bisexual, to some degree. We'll just have to encourage the part of you that wants to be fucked up the arse, hmm?"
"I'm not gay. I'm not."
Malfoy chuckled, and the finger sliding into him touched a spot that sent lightning to every nerve in Harry's body. "Really?" he purred, and the hand stroking Harry's balls slid forward to caress his hardening prick. "I could have sworn you were enjoying this."
"No," Harry whimpered.
"Look at you... legs spread, arse in the air, moaning like a Knockturn Alley whore, leaking all over my sheets. Your body is begging for it, so why should I listen to your mouth?"
There was lie there, Harry knew. There must be, for this was Malfoy. A lie, but Harry could not discern it with those hands all over him, *inside* him, and that little voice in his mind wondered if he did want it. Surely his prick shouldn't be hard while Malfoy was raping him. *If it is rape,* whispered the voice, and it sounded like Snape; Snape the greasy, Snape the biased, Snape who might be his father. *He's right, you know. You are enjoying this, if only a little.*
*I'm not gay,* he told it, squeezing his eyes closed as another finger joined the first.
*For someone who's not gay, you're certainly getting off on having Malfoy finger-fuck you.*
Harry could only moan in response.
* * * * *
A terrified house-elf escorted Severus into the main hall, but nearly fainted with fright when he tried to go further.
"Sir is not going into the family wing! Teagle is summoning Master for Sir."
Severus shook the creature off and headed for the stairs, wondering how far he would get before the manor's defenses snared him. He was willing to gamble he could make it to the serpent's lair at least; he knew the house, and Malfoy, fairly well -- and he had no choice if he planned on saving the annoying boy yet again. The thought raised more unsettling questions, and he pursued them even as he hexed the stairs to stop biting him and deflected a glue-foot curse cast by the bust of some long-dead Malfoy.
For the first time since the event, Severus had reason to thank James for saving his life. In his attempts to repay the debt by keeping the man's son safe, he had inadvertently guarded his own child.
*My son,* he thought, stepping over a tile that was conspicuously less worn than its neighbours. *I have a son. Harry Potter is my son.*
The last thought caused a tide of bile to rise in his throat. Had he actually expected his feelings for the brat to miraculously transform, he would have been disappointed; he hadn't though, so he was only angry, and baffled as to where the boy's talent for landing in trouble came from. Lily had been--
He cut off that track before it could derail him, and found himself facing a door of ebony, the dark polished surface glinting with magic. The snake handle hissed a warning at him.
Severus had been to Lucius' apartments before, but only as far as the parlour. He wasn't sure how extensive the suite was, but, knowing Lucius, it encompassed the same space as most people's entire houses. It also had some of the strongest wards known to wizard; it had to, to keep Narcissa out.
"Lucius!" he bellowed, settling for a muggle solution. He pounded on the door, ignoring the warning tingle. "Damn you, Lucius, get out here right now!" He waited a moment, then tried again. "Don't forget where *your* son sleeps ten months of the year."
The door opened abruptly, and Lucius caught Severus' fist as it swung for the wood again. "Threats, dear Severus? I thought you'd outgrown such behaviour." Lucius released his arm and stepped back, waving Severus in. His long blonde hair lay sweat-damp against his pale skin, sticking to throat and shoulders. He wore only trousers.
"Where's Potter?" Severus said, pushing into the parlour. He spotted the boy right away, looking lost in the center of the large room, clutching a too-large black silk dressing gown close to his body as though he wanted to seal it to his skin. The trailing sleeves swayed as he shook, and Severus observed his glassy-eyed, shattered gaze with dying hope. Rescue came too late; the boy -- his son, a perverse part of him corrected -- had already been raped.
Harry's heart hammered against his ribs, as though he'd swallowed a chocolate frog spiked with pepper-up potion. Malfoy arranged him on the wide bed, pressing him face-first into sheets that smelled of jasmine, sliding a silk-sheathed pillow beneath his hips and pulling his unresisting limbs apart.
Perfectly manicured hands roamed his body, stroking, pinching, scratching, and no matter how he twisted, they followed. After that came lips, then tongue, and Malfoy had undressed at some point, for his hot skin covered Harry's like a blanket of sweaty satin.
Barring the occasional wet dream, he'd never considered being intimate with another man before, but the fact that it was Malfoy far outweighed the fact that it was a man kissing and touching and licking him. When the hot, wet tongue slid down his spine and passed his tailbone without slowing, Harry could not keep silent. "Please, I've never-- I'm not--" His tongue felt heavy and clumsy and he swore.
Malfoy chuckled, and his breath ghosted over Harry's arse, first burning, then cooling. Strong fingers spread his cheeks, and the breath spilled into more intimate places. "Been saving yourself for me, have you? Don't tell me no one has been here before. Not even your own fingers?"
"I'm not gay."
"Why not?"
Harry had no answer, and even if he had, it would have died under the slick probe caressing his hole.
*Malfoy's tongue,* he thought, and the invader pushed, seeking-- *Fuck! Lucius Malfoy's tongue is up my ass. Oh, god, this can't be happening.* He tried to scream, but his throat refused to obey, and only a high moan emerged, broken in two as his breath hitched.
Malfoy chuckled indulgently, as though he'd done something unbearably cute, and replaced the tongue with something slicker, longer, and firmer. It hurt at first, but then it began to move, curling, probing, twisting, stroking his insides. To his shame, his cock hardened.
"You're enjoying yourself," Lucius said, his free hand fondling Harry's balls. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, darling. Everyone is bisexual, to some degree. We'll just have to encourage the part of you that wants to be fucked up the arse, hmm?"
"I'm not gay. I'm not."
Malfoy chuckled, and the finger sliding into him touched a spot that sent lightning to every nerve in Harry's body. "Really?" he purred, and the hand stroking Harry's balls slid forward to caress his hardening prick. "I could have sworn you were enjoying this."
"No," Harry whimpered.
"Look at you... legs spread, arse in the air, moaning like a Knockturn Alley whore, leaking all over my sheets. Your body is begging for it, so why should I listen to your mouth?"
There was lie there, Harry knew. There must be, for this was Malfoy. A lie, but Harry could not discern it with those hands all over him, *inside* him, and that little voice in his mind wondered if he did want it. Surely his prick shouldn't be hard while Malfoy was raping him. *If it is rape,* whispered the voice, and it sounded like Snape; Snape the greasy, Snape the biased, Snape who might be his father. *He's right, you know. You are enjoying this, if only a little.*
*I'm not gay,* he told it, squeezing his eyes closed as another finger joined the first.
*For someone who's not gay, you're certainly getting off on having Malfoy finger-fuck you.*
Harry could only moan in response.
* * * * *
A terrified house-elf escorted Severus into the main hall, but nearly fainted with fright when he tried to go further.
"Sir is not going into the family wing! Teagle is summoning Master for Sir."
Severus shook the creature off and headed for the stairs, wondering how far he would get before the manor's defenses snared him. He was willing to gamble he could make it to the serpent's lair at least; he knew the house, and Malfoy, fairly well -- and he had no choice if he planned on saving the annoying boy yet again. The thought raised more unsettling questions, and he pursued them even as he hexed the stairs to stop biting him and deflected a glue-foot curse cast by the bust of some long-dead Malfoy.
For the first time since the event, Severus had reason to thank James for saving his life. In his attempts to repay the debt by keeping the man's son safe, he had inadvertently guarded his own child.
*My son,* he thought, stepping over a tile that was conspicuously less worn than its neighbours. *I have a son. Harry Potter is my son.*
The last thought caused a tide of bile to rise in his throat. Had he actually expected his feelings for the brat to miraculously transform, he would have been disappointed; he hadn't though, so he was only angry, and baffled as to where the boy's talent for landing in trouble came from. Lily had been--
He cut off that track before it could derail him, and found himself facing a door of ebony, the dark polished surface glinting with magic. The snake handle hissed a warning at him.
Severus had been to Lucius' apartments before, but only as far as the parlour. He wasn't sure how extensive the suite was, but, knowing Lucius, it encompassed the same space as most people's entire houses. It also had some of the strongest wards known to wizard; it had to, to keep Narcissa out.
"Lucius!" he bellowed, settling for a muggle solution. He pounded on the door, ignoring the warning tingle. "Damn you, Lucius, get out here right now!" He waited a moment, then tried again. "Don't forget where *your* son sleeps ten months of the year."
The door opened abruptly, and Lucius caught Severus' fist as it swung for the wood again. "Threats, dear Severus? I thought you'd outgrown such behaviour." Lucius released his arm and stepped back, waving Severus in. His long blonde hair lay sweat-damp against his pale skin, sticking to throat and shoulders. He wore only trousers.
"Where's Potter?" Severus said, pushing into the parlour. He spotted the boy right away, looking lost in the center of the large room, clutching a too-large black silk dressing gown close to his body as though he wanted to seal it to his skin. The trailing sleeves swayed as he shook, and Severus observed his glassy-eyed, shattered gaze with dying hope. Rescue came too late; the boy -- his son, a perverse part of him corrected -- had already been raped.