Fic Roundup
Wow, it's been almost an entire month since I posted any writing here. Man. I suppose it's because I haven't been much in the mood to drabble in #knockturn lately, plus the holidays and blah blah blah... Anyway, I have two little snippets to share with you, one a drabble for snape100 and the other this week's submission for theatrical_muse.
snape100 Challenge #1: Bah, humbug!
Title: Getting Into the Christmas Spirit
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 100
Pairing: HP/SS
Small incoherent noises, soft breathy moans... these were his Christmas carols.
Droplets of sweat falling on his face, fingers rippling around his cock, Potter's tongue sweeping through his mouth... these were his Christmas gifts.
A tingling welt upon his neck, where Potter's teeth had nicked it when his first thrust transformed a tender nip into a bite... this was his Christmas decoration.
No more hiding from his mother's tears, nor gritting his teeth against Albus's yuletide platitudes. Potter riding him hard, beautiful in debauchery as he strained his back to plunge deeper, fuck harder...
This was his new Christmas tradition.
theatrical_muse ficlet #1
Topic: 'Do you feel that you were born with a predetermined role in society? If so, how do you feel about it?' Lucius shares an early childhood memory in response.
Rating: PG
Word count: 750
Gen
"Father, are you a king?"
He didn't answer me right away. This was no surprise; I hadn't really expected him to. I knew I was not to disturb my father with childish prattle before he finished eating, but my brain had been buzzing with questions since our return from Knockturn Alley that afternoon.
I glanced at my mother. She gave me an indulgent smile and gestured toward my plate. "Eat, Lucius."
I picked up my fork and gave my dinner a half-hearted poke, swinging my legs under the table. Someday they would be long enough to reach the ground, I thought.
"No," my father said at length. He set his fork down on the table and wiped both corners of his mouth with his napkin, laying it on the table before he spoke again. "I am not a king. Kings are a... muggle invention." His thin lip curled in a disdainful sneer and I mimicked him, my mouth contorting subconsciously with no real understanding of the emotion behind the expression.
"Then why was everyone so nice to you today?"
Father sat back in his chair. "Well, I suppose you could say we are as close to royalty as it is possible to get among wizards."
"Why?"
"Because we are Malfoys."
My brow furrowed. Father's tone made it sound as though the logic behind this statement should be obvious even to a child of my age, but I had no idea what he was trying to say. "What's so great about being a Malfoy?"
Mother's goblet stopped halfway to her mouth, and the wine sloshed a bit as she shot my father a nervous glance. Father's grey eyes narrowed as he studied me, his fingers plucking unconsciously at a patch of lace on the tablecloth. I stopped swinging my legs and sat very still, my heart thudding with a sudden surge of anxiety. I'd said something wrong. I didn't know what it was, but I knew enough to fear that gleam in my father's eyes.
"Give me your hand," he said, his voice low and tense. I dropped my fork to the table and offered it timidly, and he snatched it up and dragged it toward him, drawing his wand at the same time. He said something in Latin I did not understand, and the tip of his wand gleamed as it changed to a needle-sharp spike. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mother shifting in her chair; she seemed about to say something but my father ignored her and pulled my hand closer.
Without warning, he drove the needle into the tip of my finger.
The cry that leapt from my throat was born of surprise more than pain. My vision blurred with a sudden rush of tears and I tried to jerk my hand out of Father's grasp, but he held it tightly, squeezing my finger until a fat drop of crimson welled where the skin had been broken.
"Look at this, Lucius," he said in that same low, ominous tone. "This> is what makes being a Malfoy so great. Your blood. You have the blood of many generations of wizards running through your veins. This blood -- the purest of blood -- is the only kind of blood worth having." He released my hand and my finger flew to my mouth; I wasn't sure if the salt I tasted on my lips came from my blood or my tears.
"You may leave the table."
I was no longer bleeding when I went to bed that night, but my fingertip was still stained red just below the surface of the skin. I stared at it in the moonlight for a long while, thinking about the way my father had been treated that afternoon, the respect and fear I saw in the eyes of those around us as we walked from shop to shop. They denied him nothing; on the contrary, they went out of their way to ensure he had everything he wanted. If what my father said was true, and it was our pure blood that made us so special, surely that meant that I, too, would be treated thus when I was an adult.
The idea was a thrilling one.
I fell asleep cradling my hand against my chest, feeling vaguely sorry for those whose blood was inferior to my own. The step from pity to contempt was a small one, small enough even for a child to take.
snape100 Challenge #1: Bah, humbug!
Title: Getting Into the Christmas Spirit
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 100
Pairing: HP/SS
Small incoherent noises, soft breathy moans... these were his Christmas carols.
Droplets of sweat falling on his face, fingers rippling around his cock, Potter's tongue sweeping through his mouth... these were his Christmas gifts.
A tingling welt upon his neck, where Potter's teeth had nicked it when his first thrust transformed a tender nip into a bite... this was his Christmas decoration.
No more hiding from his mother's tears, nor gritting his teeth against Albus's yuletide platitudes. Potter riding him hard, beautiful in debauchery as he strained his back to plunge deeper, fuck harder...
This was his new Christmas tradition.
theatrical_muse ficlet #1
Topic: 'Do you feel that you were born with a predetermined role in society? If so, how do you feel about it?' Lucius shares an early childhood memory in response.
Rating: PG
Word count: 750
Gen
"Father, are you a king?"
He didn't answer me right away. This was no surprise; I hadn't really expected him to. I knew I was not to disturb my father with childish prattle before he finished eating, but my brain had been buzzing with questions since our return from Knockturn Alley that afternoon.
I glanced at my mother. She gave me an indulgent smile and gestured toward my plate. "Eat, Lucius."
I picked up my fork and gave my dinner a half-hearted poke, swinging my legs under the table. Someday they would be long enough to reach the ground, I thought.
"No," my father said at length. He set his fork down on the table and wiped both corners of his mouth with his napkin, laying it on the table before he spoke again. "I am not a king. Kings are a... muggle invention." His thin lip curled in a disdainful sneer and I mimicked him, my mouth contorting subconsciously with no real understanding of the emotion behind the expression.
"Then why was everyone so nice to you today?"
Father sat back in his chair. "Well, I suppose you could say we are as close to royalty as it is possible to get among wizards."
"Why?"
"Because we are Malfoys."
My brow furrowed. Father's tone made it sound as though the logic behind this statement should be obvious even to a child of my age, but I had no idea what he was trying to say. "What's so great about being a Malfoy?"
Mother's goblet stopped halfway to her mouth, and the wine sloshed a bit as she shot my father a nervous glance. Father's grey eyes narrowed as he studied me, his fingers plucking unconsciously at a patch of lace on the tablecloth. I stopped swinging my legs and sat very still, my heart thudding with a sudden surge of anxiety. I'd said something wrong. I didn't know what it was, but I knew enough to fear that gleam in my father's eyes.
"Give me your hand," he said, his voice low and tense. I dropped my fork to the table and offered it timidly, and he snatched it up and dragged it toward him, drawing his wand at the same time. He said something in Latin I did not understand, and the tip of his wand gleamed as it changed to a needle-sharp spike. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mother shifting in her chair; she seemed about to say something but my father ignored her and pulled my hand closer.
Without warning, he drove the needle into the tip of my finger.
The cry that leapt from my throat was born of surprise more than pain. My vision blurred with a sudden rush of tears and I tried to jerk my hand out of Father's grasp, but he held it tightly, squeezing my finger until a fat drop of crimson welled where the skin had been broken.
"Look at this, Lucius," he said in that same low, ominous tone. "This> is what makes being a Malfoy so great. Your blood. You have the blood of many generations of wizards running through your veins. This blood -- the purest of blood -- is the only kind of blood worth having." He released my hand and my finger flew to my mouth; I wasn't sure if the salt I tasted on my lips came from my blood or my tears.
"You may leave the table."
I was no longer bleeding when I went to bed that night, but my fingertip was still stained red just below the surface of the skin. I stared at it in the moonlight for a long while, thinking about the way my father had been treated that afternoon, the respect and fear I saw in the eyes of those around us as we walked from shop to shop. They denied him nothing; on the contrary, they went out of their way to ensure he had everything he wanted. If what my father said was true, and it was our pure blood that made us so special, surely that meant that I, too, would be treated thus when I was an adult.
The idea was a thrilling one.
I fell asleep cradling my hand against my chest, feeling vaguely sorry for those whose blood was inferior to my own. The step from pity to contempt was a small one, small enough even for a child to take.