Title: A Thousand Kisses Deep
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Lucius/Alastor Moody (main); others implied
Summary: Challenge #3 for the Lucius Malfoy Fuhqfest - http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LuciusMalfoyFuhqfest/
The war is over. Lucius has lived. Azkaban's security is in doubt after Death Eater breakouts & the abandonment of the Dementors so an ancient law has been called into effect for high-risk criminals (surviving Death Eaters), the individuals are magically bound to a 'master'. Their lives are in the hands of their masters; if they rebel their master is legally allowed to terminate them. Lucius is one of the people to suffer this fate. Who is his master? How is he treated? (challenge by Hyperbole)
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: M/M slash, implied chanslash and incest (historical), slight angst, AU
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K. Rowling. Their extra-curricular activities are my own invention.
A/N: This could be considered a "sister-fic" to my Leonard Cohen Songfic Series, though it's in a different universe.
"You win a while, and then it's done -
Your little winning streak.
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat,
You live your life as if it's real,
A thousand kisses deep."
from "A Thousand Kisses Deep" by Leonard Cohen
- Lucius' POV -
In many ways it seems that nothing about my life has changed, though in fact everything has. I still sleep on a four-poster bed draped with silk and velvet at Malfoy Manor; my robes are as grand as they ever were, and I still walk the streets carrying a cane topped with a silver snake's head. But under the sleek satin and brocade of my fine clothes lies an invisible collar denoting my bondage to a master, and both his eyes - the dark one that is his by nature and the magical blue one that is almost omnipotent in its all-seeing power - are always upon me. His gaze is forever fond and loving, to be sure; I believe that nobody since my son has looked upon me with such adoration, but his possessive stare is nonetheless inescapable.
It is so strange, to learn this way that Alastor has been secretly in love with me for years. The man I thought for so long to be one of my deadliest enemies, a paranoid old Auror with a vicious grudge against me, has treated me like the most precious of treasures from the moment I became his. Reclaiming my vast wealth and returning it to my possession; spending his own money on lavish gifts for me (he has, apparently, a considerable fortune of his own, and seeing as he is an old man and the last of his family line, he would rather amuse himself by buying me trinkets than, as he bluntly puts it, "leave that huge pile of useless Galleons to rot in a Gringotts vault").
When I think of what may have befallen me, I know for certain that I could have been awarded to worse than Moody as part of the spoils of war. After the fall and death of the Dark Lord, Azkaban was no longer deemed a sufficiently secure prison for the surviving Death Eaters without the Dementors to guard it, so an ancient spell binding those who break the Ministry of Magic's laws to powerful wizards or witches who then become masters over their lives and deaths was resurrected. Made docile by the unseen collars around our necks, unable to leave our masters lest we meet a most agonising end, that has been the fate of Lord Voldemort's followers. Some of us have fallen into the hands of cruel overlords - Avery is now dead, as is Nott. Others have been more fortunate. Walden Macnair, for example, seems to enjoy his new life as the property of Rubeus Hagrid. When I last saw him, he had finally ceased to mourn the demise of his beloved Golgomath; the company of the half-giant Hagrid and his brother, the full-blooded giant Grawp, appears to be of great consolation to Macnair, and a rugged life in the outdoors seems to suit him perfectly.
By Alastor, I am not so much enslaved as "kept"; he keeps me in the manner that wealthy gentlemen of yore once kept beautiful young women as mistresses or pretty boys as catamites. We have grown far closer than I once could have thought possible - he is a man of impeccable taste when it comes to food and wine, poetry and music, literature and art, and as a lover he is sublimely skilled. I must confess that it was I who initiated our intimacies, as Alastor would never even dream of forcing himself upon me - the thought of lonely nights lying awake with only memories of my precious son, my sweet young lover since his first year at Hogwarts School, churning around in my lovesick mind was almost enough to drive me to suicide. But the scarred yet gentle hands of Moody bring me sweetness and relief each night. His kisses on my lips and throat are like a healing balm; the tightness and warmth of his inner muscles around my cock as he straddles and rides me are sheer heaven. In my eyes, he is both flawed and beauteous - his gruff manner by day yielding to a sensual tenderness by night, his body still graceful and his musculature still shapely despite his age and the many grievous marks left by old wounds. With my hands I pay homage to his well-defined but worn flesh; with my mouth I worship the disfigured stump left bare when I detach his wooden leg for our nights of passion. He loves the vulnerability of removing his magic eye for me; I trail a thousand kisses every evening around the damaged socket, flickering my tongue-tip over every scar on his ruined, glorious face. My broken warrior, my beautiful old man.
I have not seen my family since I was given to Alastor Moody - or, as the Ministry would have it, my former family, as after enslavement all such ties are considered null and void. Although Narcissa's new mistress graciously permits her to owl me once a week, I have long ago stopped looking forward to the arrival of my wife's letters. They are always the same; idle and mindless chatter about new gowns and jewels, the idyllic beauty of the South of France and her luxurious room at the palace of Beauxbatons... clearly, her duties as companion to Madame Maxime are neither arduous nor unpleasant.
What I genuinely crave with all my heart is to see my son Draco again, or even to receive a few words scrawled on parchment by his beloved hand. But his master, that selfsame Severus Snape who was once my fellow Death Eater and dear friend, will not permit it. Not even Alastor's considerable influence with the Ministry has been able to procure this boon for me.
My child, my life, my love... he was eighteen when I last laid eyes on him. I have gone two years without the sound of his melodious voice, without seeing the light in his eyes that so exactly mirror mine. I know in my heart that those eyes were brimming with unshed tears at our parting, as he called across the Ministry's courtroom that he loved me, would always be true to me, would never forget me. I think of Draco even as I lay my head on Alastor's chest after lovemaking, his gnarled fingers ghosting softly through the luminous strands of my hair, his guttural voice warm with endearments.
"If you were to forge a love-bond with me, you would be considered a free man again by the wizarding world," Alastor whispers to me every time we lie together like this. "It's a clause of the ancient decree of enslavement that the Minister for Magic has conveniently forgotten. My ring upon your left hand would dissolve the collar, and you would be able to go where you want and do whatever you please. We are already lovers in the flesh - why not celebrate our joining, declare it aloud for everyone to hear? There has never been another that I've felt like this about in my entire life... wed me, Lucius, I beg you, and you will make me the happiest man who ever lived..."
"I do care for you, Alastor," I always reply tenderly, kissing his lips softly, caressing his furrowed brow. "And if my heart were completely free, I would accept you as my life-mate. But there is another who holds my heartstrings, and I will not be unfaithful to that other. I cannot."
Although Alastor is never angered at these words, he always heaves a deep sigh and looks crestfallen. "Is it your wife, or Voldemort that you long for?" he asks me. "Macnair perhaps, or one of the other Death Eaters?"
I slowly shake my head, and hide my face against his weathered yet still firmly muscled shoulder; he bends forward to kiss my hair, and I close my eyes so I will not have to bear the sight of sorrow on his countenance.
- End POV -
- One Year Later -
The evening clouds hint at a midnight storm beyond the stained-glass windows of Malfoy Manor; a sumptuous repast of roast chicken, herb and onion seasoned stuffing, freshly baked bread rolls with golden melted butter, crisply roasted vegetables and goblets of fine wine is laid upon the sage-green silken cloth that drapes the banquet table. Lucius cannot repress a smile at the way Moody still sniffs the food for traces of poison, even though he has prepared the meal himself (gourmet cookery being a favourite hobby of the old man's). Alastor's paranoia, a hangover from his tumultuous days as an Auror, is so oddly endearing to Lucius. So many of Moody's quirks and strange little habits have grown on Lucius over the three years they have been together. It makes Lucius feel a little guilty sometimes, but as he drifts off to sleep at night, the face he envisions behind his closed eyelids is more often Alastor's than Draco's. The fact that Lucius is securely held in Moody's arms every night, feeling the familiar and beloved heartbeat of the old Auror, does not aid his resolve to be faithful (at least in spirit) to Draco forever.
As the lovers finish their dinner, the remains of the meal disappear from the enchanted dishes to be replaced by cream-filled brandy snaps and chocolate profiteroles. After a few mouthfuls punctuated by silence, Moody sighs and lays down his silver spoon.
"It's Draco, isn't it?" the old man says tenderly, reproachfully.
Lucius gasps, and hastily swallows his mouthful of cream and pastry. "I - I don't know what you mean, Alastor," he falters, his eyes wide with shock.
"I think you do," Alastor growls, both his natural and magical eyes fixed upon Lucius. "It dawned on me a little while ago, who's been keeping you from loving me fully. Who else would be good and perfect enough for a pure-blooded Malfoy but another made in his image? I can't say I approve of incest, but it happens. I'm not judging you for it, Lucius - all I can say is that it's a relief to know at last who my rival is. I'll always love you - and I have something for you."
Alastor rises from the table and gestures for Lucius to follow him. Lucius stares in wonder as he enters the bedroom he shares with Alastor slightly behind the old man, watching as Moody takes out his wand, pointing it at the huge, gilt-framed mirror on the wall.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, dearie," the mirror warns, but Alastor simply snarls, "Shut it, you," and pronounces an incantation.
Thick purple smoke suddenly clouds the mirror's glassy surface, and just as swiftly dissipates, revealing a vision of a room far beyond Malfoy Manor, a bedroom in which two male lovers are entwined in a post-coital embrace. One of them is Severus Snape; the other one, as gloriously beautiful as ever, is Lucius' own precious son Draco. Suppressing a sob, Lucius calls out the younger Malfoy's name, but Alastor raises a hand to silence him.
"They can't hear us - the spell only allows us to see and hear them for a few moments," Alastor growls, and Lucius stands closer to the looking glass to hear what Severus and Draco are saying.
Draco is tenderly caressing Snape's hair; Snape is looking at Draco intently, asking with a note of concern in his voice, "Are you sure it's what you want?"
"I'm absolutely certain," Draco says firmly. "I adore Lucius, and always will - he's my father, after all. And I'll always remember what I had with him - but there's no way we could ever have a future together. Although the wizarding world accepts same-sex couples, it still draws the line at blood relations becoming lovers. I don't want to have to live in secrecy, keeping my true self hidden from everyone. I want the world to know how I feel. I want a love-bond with you, Severus."
As Lucius watches Severus place a silver ring on Draco's finger, and the vision in the mirror slowly dissolves, he feels himself collapsing with a sudden weakness, his body wracked by uncustomary sobs. He is not a man easily given to weeping, but it is as though his entire world is crumbling, as though his sole reason for living is gone forever. Until he feels the strong and wiry hands of Moody lifting him to his feet, and sees the silver stream of tears falling from the old man's fleshly eye. Moody is not a man who cries easily either, and this sudden show of vulnerability melts something deep within Lucius.
Before they know what they are doing, both men are on the bed and naked to each other, and their mouths are joined; Moody's palms are flush against the sculpted smoothness of Lucius' chest, hardening the nipples before those loving hands gently turn him and slick the crease of the younger man's arse with lubricated fingers. Lucius still sobs as Moody softly enters and moves in him; he is more open and fragile than he has ever been, his heart and soul as well as the rest of him letting Moody deeper and deeper inside. Moody's tears fall unchecked on Lucius' bare shoulders; in this tiny universe their merged bodies have created, there is only Alastor for Lucius, and Lucius for Alastor. Yes, Lucius still cherishes his son, but he knows that they can never be together as he once desired. One day he will meet his beloved Draco again, but when he does, both Malfoys will be the bridegrooms of other men.
Slowly the pain disperses like the smoke across the face of the enchanted looking glass, and only the perfect union on the bed before the mirror remains intact.
At midnight, Lucius receives Alastor's ring upon his finger, and the deepest kiss upon his parched and aching lips.
~ Fin.
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Lucius/Alastor Moody (main); others implied
Summary: Challenge #3 for the Lucius Malfoy Fuhqfest - http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LuciusMalfoyFuhqfest/
The war is over. Lucius has lived. Azkaban's security is in doubt after Death Eater breakouts & the abandonment of the Dementors so an ancient law has been called into effect for high-risk criminals (surviving Death Eaters), the individuals are magically bound to a 'master'. Their lives are in the hands of their masters; if they rebel their master is legally allowed to terminate them. Lucius is one of the people to suffer this fate. Who is his master? How is he treated? (challenge by Hyperbole)
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: M/M slash, implied chanslash and incest (historical), slight angst, AU
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K. Rowling. Their extra-curricular activities are my own invention.
A/N: This could be considered a "sister-fic" to my Leonard Cohen Songfic Series, though it's in a different universe.
"You win a while, and then it's done -
Your little winning streak.
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat,
You live your life as if it's real,
A thousand kisses deep."
from "A Thousand Kisses Deep" by Leonard Cohen
- Lucius' POV -
In many ways it seems that nothing about my life has changed, though in fact everything has. I still sleep on a four-poster bed draped with silk and velvet at Malfoy Manor; my robes are as grand as they ever were, and I still walk the streets carrying a cane topped with a silver snake's head. But under the sleek satin and brocade of my fine clothes lies an invisible collar denoting my bondage to a master, and both his eyes - the dark one that is his by nature and the magical blue one that is almost omnipotent in its all-seeing power - are always upon me. His gaze is forever fond and loving, to be sure; I believe that nobody since my son has looked upon me with such adoration, but his possessive stare is nonetheless inescapable.
It is so strange, to learn this way that Alastor has been secretly in love with me for years. The man I thought for so long to be one of my deadliest enemies, a paranoid old Auror with a vicious grudge against me, has treated me like the most precious of treasures from the moment I became his. Reclaiming my vast wealth and returning it to my possession; spending his own money on lavish gifts for me (he has, apparently, a considerable fortune of his own, and seeing as he is an old man and the last of his family line, he would rather amuse himself by buying me trinkets than, as he bluntly puts it, "leave that huge pile of useless Galleons to rot in a Gringotts vault").
When I think of what may have befallen me, I know for certain that I could have been awarded to worse than Moody as part of the spoils of war. After the fall and death of the Dark Lord, Azkaban was no longer deemed a sufficiently secure prison for the surviving Death Eaters without the Dementors to guard it, so an ancient spell binding those who break the Ministry of Magic's laws to powerful wizards or witches who then become masters over their lives and deaths was resurrected. Made docile by the unseen collars around our necks, unable to leave our masters lest we meet a most agonising end, that has been the fate of Lord Voldemort's followers. Some of us have fallen into the hands of cruel overlords - Avery is now dead, as is Nott. Others have been more fortunate. Walden Macnair, for example, seems to enjoy his new life as the property of Rubeus Hagrid. When I last saw him, he had finally ceased to mourn the demise of his beloved Golgomath; the company of the half-giant Hagrid and his brother, the full-blooded giant Grawp, appears to be of great consolation to Macnair, and a rugged life in the outdoors seems to suit him perfectly.
By Alastor, I am not so much enslaved as "kept"; he keeps me in the manner that wealthy gentlemen of yore once kept beautiful young women as mistresses or pretty boys as catamites. We have grown far closer than I once could have thought possible - he is a man of impeccable taste when it comes to food and wine, poetry and music, literature and art, and as a lover he is sublimely skilled. I must confess that it was I who initiated our intimacies, as Alastor would never even dream of forcing himself upon me - the thought of lonely nights lying awake with only memories of my precious son, my sweet young lover since his first year at Hogwarts School, churning around in my lovesick mind was almost enough to drive me to suicide. But the scarred yet gentle hands of Moody bring me sweetness and relief each night. His kisses on my lips and throat are like a healing balm; the tightness and warmth of his inner muscles around my cock as he straddles and rides me are sheer heaven. In my eyes, he is both flawed and beauteous - his gruff manner by day yielding to a sensual tenderness by night, his body still graceful and his musculature still shapely despite his age and the many grievous marks left by old wounds. With my hands I pay homage to his well-defined but worn flesh; with my mouth I worship the disfigured stump left bare when I detach his wooden leg for our nights of passion. He loves the vulnerability of removing his magic eye for me; I trail a thousand kisses every evening around the damaged socket, flickering my tongue-tip over every scar on his ruined, glorious face. My broken warrior, my beautiful old man.
I have not seen my family since I was given to Alastor Moody - or, as the Ministry would have it, my former family, as after enslavement all such ties are considered null and void. Although Narcissa's new mistress graciously permits her to owl me once a week, I have long ago stopped looking forward to the arrival of my wife's letters. They are always the same; idle and mindless chatter about new gowns and jewels, the idyllic beauty of the South of France and her luxurious room at the palace of Beauxbatons... clearly, her duties as companion to Madame Maxime are neither arduous nor unpleasant.
What I genuinely crave with all my heart is to see my son Draco again, or even to receive a few words scrawled on parchment by his beloved hand. But his master, that selfsame Severus Snape who was once my fellow Death Eater and dear friend, will not permit it. Not even Alastor's considerable influence with the Ministry has been able to procure this boon for me.
My child, my life, my love... he was eighteen when I last laid eyes on him. I have gone two years without the sound of his melodious voice, without seeing the light in his eyes that so exactly mirror mine. I know in my heart that those eyes were brimming with unshed tears at our parting, as he called across the Ministry's courtroom that he loved me, would always be true to me, would never forget me. I think of Draco even as I lay my head on Alastor's chest after lovemaking, his gnarled fingers ghosting softly through the luminous strands of my hair, his guttural voice warm with endearments.
"If you were to forge a love-bond with me, you would be considered a free man again by the wizarding world," Alastor whispers to me every time we lie together like this. "It's a clause of the ancient decree of enslavement that the Minister for Magic has conveniently forgotten. My ring upon your left hand would dissolve the collar, and you would be able to go where you want and do whatever you please. We are already lovers in the flesh - why not celebrate our joining, declare it aloud for everyone to hear? There has never been another that I've felt like this about in my entire life... wed me, Lucius, I beg you, and you will make me the happiest man who ever lived..."
"I do care for you, Alastor," I always reply tenderly, kissing his lips softly, caressing his furrowed brow. "And if my heart were completely free, I would accept you as my life-mate. But there is another who holds my heartstrings, and I will not be unfaithful to that other. I cannot."
Although Alastor is never angered at these words, he always heaves a deep sigh and looks crestfallen. "Is it your wife, or Voldemort that you long for?" he asks me. "Macnair perhaps, or one of the other Death Eaters?"
I slowly shake my head, and hide my face against his weathered yet still firmly muscled shoulder; he bends forward to kiss my hair, and I close my eyes so I will not have to bear the sight of sorrow on his countenance.
- End POV -
- One Year Later -
The evening clouds hint at a midnight storm beyond the stained-glass windows of Malfoy Manor; a sumptuous repast of roast chicken, herb and onion seasoned stuffing, freshly baked bread rolls with golden melted butter, crisply roasted vegetables and goblets of fine wine is laid upon the sage-green silken cloth that drapes the banquet table. Lucius cannot repress a smile at the way Moody still sniffs the food for traces of poison, even though he has prepared the meal himself (gourmet cookery being a favourite hobby of the old man's). Alastor's paranoia, a hangover from his tumultuous days as an Auror, is so oddly endearing to Lucius. So many of Moody's quirks and strange little habits have grown on Lucius over the three years they have been together. It makes Lucius feel a little guilty sometimes, but as he drifts off to sleep at night, the face he envisions behind his closed eyelids is more often Alastor's than Draco's. The fact that Lucius is securely held in Moody's arms every night, feeling the familiar and beloved heartbeat of the old Auror, does not aid his resolve to be faithful (at least in spirit) to Draco forever.
As the lovers finish their dinner, the remains of the meal disappear from the enchanted dishes to be replaced by cream-filled brandy snaps and chocolate profiteroles. After a few mouthfuls punctuated by silence, Moody sighs and lays down his silver spoon.
"It's Draco, isn't it?" the old man says tenderly, reproachfully.
Lucius gasps, and hastily swallows his mouthful of cream and pastry. "I - I don't know what you mean, Alastor," he falters, his eyes wide with shock.
"I think you do," Alastor growls, both his natural and magical eyes fixed upon Lucius. "It dawned on me a little while ago, who's been keeping you from loving me fully. Who else would be good and perfect enough for a pure-blooded Malfoy but another made in his image? I can't say I approve of incest, but it happens. I'm not judging you for it, Lucius - all I can say is that it's a relief to know at last who my rival is. I'll always love you - and I have something for you."
Alastor rises from the table and gestures for Lucius to follow him. Lucius stares in wonder as he enters the bedroom he shares with Alastor slightly behind the old man, watching as Moody takes out his wand, pointing it at the huge, gilt-framed mirror on the wall.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, dearie," the mirror warns, but Alastor simply snarls, "Shut it, you," and pronounces an incantation.
Thick purple smoke suddenly clouds the mirror's glassy surface, and just as swiftly dissipates, revealing a vision of a room far beyond Malfoy Manor, a bedroom in which two male lovers are entwined in a post-coital embrace. One of them is Severus Snape; the other one, as gloriously beautiful as ever, is Lucius' own precious son Draco. Suppressing a sob, Lucius calls out the younger Malfoy's name, but Alastor raises a hand to silence him.
"They can't hear us - the spell only allows us to see and hear them for a few moments," Alastor growls, and Lucius stands closer to the looking glass to hear what Severus and Draco are saying.
Draco is tenderly caressing Snape's hair; Snape is looking at Draco intently, asking with a note of concern in his voice, "Are you sure it's what you want?"
"I'm absolutely certain," Draco says firmly. "I adore Lucius, and always will - he's my father, after all. And I'll always remember what I had with him - but there's no way we could ever have a future together. Although the wizarding world accepts same-sex couples, it still draws the line at blood relations becoming lovers. I don't want to have to live in secrecy, keeping my true self hidden from everyone. I want the world to know how I feel. I want a love-bond with you, Severus."
As Lucius watches Severus place a silver ring on Draco's finger, and the vision in the mirror slowly dissolves, he feels himself collapsing with a sudden weakness, his body wracked by uncustomary sobs. He is not a man easily given to weeping, but it is as though his entire world is crumbling, as though his sole reason for living is gone forever. Until he feels the strong and wiry hands of Moody lifting him to his feet, and sees the silver stream of tears falling from the old man's fleshly eye. Moody is not a man who cries easily either, and this sudden show of vulnerability melts something deep within Lucius.
Before they know what they are doing, both men are on the bed and naked to each other, and their mouths are joined; Moody's palms are flush against the sculpted smoothness of Lucius' chest, hardening the nipples before those loving hands gently turn him and slick the crease of the younger man's arse with lubricated fingers. Lucius still sobs as Moody softly enters and moves in him; he is more open and fragile than he has ever been, his heart and soul as well as the rest of him letting Moody deeper and deeper inside. Moody's tears fall unchecked on Lucius' bare shoulders; in this tiny universe their merged bodies have created, there is only Alastor for Lucius, and Lucius for Alastor. Yes, Lucius still cherishes his son, but he knows that they can never be together as he once desired. One day he will meet his beloved Draco again, but when he does, both Malfoys will be the bridegrooms of other men.
Slowly the pain disperses like the smoke across the face of the enchanted looking glass, and only the perfect union on the bed before the mirror remains intact.
At midnight, Lucius receives Alastor's ring upon his finger, and the deepest kiss upon his parched and aching lips.
~ Fin.