Her muscles vibrated with the effort to maintain stillness, skin twitching at the weight of his warm, buttery gloves against her.

"Er, Antonin caned me some," she admitted through rusted chords.

"Hm." His hand stroked down the curve of her arse. "What did he use?"

"I didn't see… Something from his wand."

"Yes, that sounds like him. I'm sure it was a long, thin rod closer to a switch than a true cane." Cool, polished smoothness soothed over the backs of her thighs. "Canes come in many varieties and they all produce distinct sensations. Perhaps you'll come to appreciate their nuances over articulate cane… Well, you shall see." The hand pressed so her pubis ground into the desk, then a whoosh of air ruffled around her.

Hermione's spine arced, wild hair thrown over her shoulders with the force of her startled cry. Heat flooded the skin where he'd landed the blow and then the force of Lucius' displeasure shoved between her bird-frail shoulders, her breath fogging the polish of the beneath her cheek.

"I told you to keep still." His palm lingered between her shoulder blades. "If you disobey again you may find yourself in deeper than you'd like. Do you understand?"

The breathy, "Yes, sir," reeled thoughtlessly from her lips.

The blow of the cane hit that sensitive line between arse and thigh and Hermione fought to keep still, her toes dancing in place and knuckles turning white where she gripped the edge of the desk. Successive blows rained over her in meaty, cruel strikes, and her hips ground into the sharp line of wood as the force of the caning rippled through her. Cries forced themselves from her in concert with the strokes of the cane; high-pitched yelps interspersed with deep groans as his speed and the strength behind it varied.

When the next searing lance crossed skin already scarlet with welts, Hermione tumbled beyond temporal awareness. She existed simultaneously with every whistling impact, every blossoming strike. She did not move from position not because she was actively obeying the order, but because she was too caught in the loop of action-reaction to have the cognizance to shift.

Her fingers clutched at the table now, her feet arching into the floor to anchor herself even as her torso whipped and lashed in glorious agony.

Her body was prepared to boat the next blow, but instead of the harsh cane, a large palm smoothed over her stinging flesh.

Hermione hissed and arched against it, relishing the edge of soothing hurt. Her skin felt too tight there, like all the blood in her body was rushing southward, her pulse throbbing along with the welts.

"My, my." Deft fingers swirled against her slit, framed as it was by reddened backside. "Who would have thought the swotty little Miss Granger would get dripping wet from a caning. From a classmate's father, no less." His taunting tone stirred prurient humiliation in her stomach and she bit her lip against the moan working through her throat. "Quite the little pain slut, aren't you?" She said nothing; Lucius' smack smarted against her swollen flesh. "Aren't you?"

She shook her head in vehement denial.

"No?" Two soft, gloved fingers dipped into her, the tightness of her passage eased by her own slickness. "Are you certain?" A plaintive little whine belied her insistence. He stilled. "Unless you'd like to use a certain word...?" Hermione frowned, but shook her head as that word swam into memory. "As I thought. A slut. After all, you are draped over the desk of a man old enough to be your father, your pretty arse turning purple with welts, my fingers deep in your cunt." He corkscrewed his fingers at the last words and Hermione sobbed as a need she loathed coursed through her veins, stoked by his magnanimous cruelty.

"What's wrong, little slut?" His thumb slid between her lips to play at her clit. "Do you need something?" She shook her head again, but the rolling of her hips against him told the truth. "You only need to ask."

His fingers were playing her with all the skill promised by his arrogant mien. The strumming pressure of his thumb, the curl of his fingers, so much thicker than her own, all coiled her arousal tightly in her stomach.

Then he smacked her tender arse and she couldn't help herself. "Ah! Please."

His pleasure purred across her, then he slid up her back with his other hand and she felt the supple leather around her throat.

He raced her against him, fingers in her cunt and around her neck bowing her taut as harp strings. Silken hair brushed against her cheek, stiff fabric antagonizing her bruised behind, and lighting flashing behind her eyelids as she was overcome.

"That's it. Show me what a filthy girl you are. Come on my fingers like a good little mudblood whore." The low growl of hot words against her ears, the tightening fist at her throat, and the deft hands at her core played her to her crescendo and she cried out, writhing in his grasp as her dark vision flashed and pleasure flooded her body. She was one note of orgasm from her curling, tingling toes to her desperately groaning lips. And he milked it out of her, cleverly twisting against every wave until she was wrung out, panting in his arms.

He swept her from the floor and when her lashes finally batted heavily apart, Hermione found herself curled in his lap, her legs strewn across his own long limbs, her head against his chest as he stroked her tangled curls.

"There she is. I was almost worried you'd fainted."

Had she the capacity at the moment Hermione may have blushed. Instead she blinked up at him with owl-wide tawny eyes.

"I'm just a bit spacey."

His lips quirked and he ran a bare knuckle against her cheek. Hermione noted distantly that his gloves were gone now. "So I see." He plucked up the forgotten tumbler and swigged the fragrant whiskey. "Is this what you were seeking, little one?"

Hermione prodded at the surface of her mental state; the glassy surface rippled and grew cloudy as it stilled, placid as a mirror. She turned back to her silver-eyed watcher. "Why are you being nice to me?"

Amusement danced around the line of his face. "You just allowed me to do terrible things to you. Why would I not be inclined to reward such behavior?"

"But you didn't get anything out of it."

"Didn't I?" He chuckled at the frown pulling at her brows. "I told you before; as you want to feel pain, I want to give it." There was some thought swirling just out of reach, something about need and what had just happened, but he spoke before she could attempt to grasp it. "Besides, we are neither of us the Death Eater serving a cruel lord nor the captive victim of such. We are two individuals who chose this engagement. It is important to remember that after the fact, important not to get lost in the roles."

She nodded, tucking his words away and retiring his measured scrutiny with one more focused on those observations she was normally too self-conscious to think. Like the fact that he really was a handsome man even stripped of all his upper class accoutrement.

"Those will be quite swollen and painful in the morning," Lucius said after a long moment. The fingers in her hair trailed down at lighted on her thigh. "You'll have impressive marks as well. Would you like me to heal them before you sleep?"

"No." The word was more forceful than expected, but the idea of them gone, or not being able to watch them change and disperse over time, stirred unpleasantly. "No, thank you."

One dark brow raised, but he responded, "Very well. Then you should get rest while your mind is quiet." Hermione shifted to climb from his lap, but his arms encased her once again and he stood with her against his chest. "Your legs may be weak," he explained as he swept through his study and down the hall. "It is best to allow me to take care of you in the vulnerable moments after."

Hermione hummed in acquiescence, but hardly registered his meaning. Her arms were loosely around his neck and she was staring up at him curiously, wondering at the stubble on his cheeks and down his jaw. It was sooner than she'd have thought that he was laying her down, pulling the duvet over her prone form. Her hands caught the warmth of his skin as she slid them to her sides. For such a cold man it seemed his blood ran hot. He brushed back her hair and she closed her eyes at the intimacy, lids leaden with the same heady weight pulling her out of herself.

Before she slid completely below the surface the silken softness of lips whispered against her forehead. "Sleep well, little one."

Notes:

I'm getting a jump on establishing the dynamic between Hermione and Lucius because a lot of the plot and interactions with others will hinge on that. I had initially wanted this story to be a slow build to that dynamic but it changed and morphed in my mind and... Well, here it is. We're starting this story with a bang.

Anyway, Hermione will have a few questions as she starts to come out of the quiet of the scene, not least of which is why Lucius Malfoy didn't take advantage to have sex with her. He's taking things a little on the careful side. At least for the moment.

No, he's not a good guy. But he's not evil. I always saw Lucius Malfoy post-Azkaban as somewhat broken. I also don't know that I have an endgame pairing for this story; at least, not if I end it with Cassiel's Chains.

Some more info about a possible Tomione time travel fic: Hermione would be going back somewhere between the start of the Horcrux Hunt and within a month of the end of the Battle of Hogwarts. So it would drift from canon, even the canon of DWTD.

Let's hope I'm on a roll!

Thanks for reading along.