All My Despoiled Angels, v. 2
Pairings: Abraxas/Lucius, Abraxas/Tom, Abraxas/Severus.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex, chan, violence, cruelty, death
A/N: Second version dedicated to underlucius. Happy Valentine's Day!
The light, though dim, is so heavy upon his skin he feels suffocated by it. There is nothing in the room that can stop the chill he shivers with, though his pores seem to breathe only sweat and tight, thick pain. The blankets hurt his skin. He is conscious, for a moment, of where he is, shifting upon his bed. His weight pulls at his long hair, trapped in rough tangles beneath him. He feels the balm of cool, damp cloth upon his forehead.
"What time is it?" he whispers.
"Eight o'clock," is the crisp reply.
"Did you poison me?"
"No, Father, you're ill."
"Lucius? Poison is not contagious. Lie down beside me for a moment."
Lucius is amber amid the peppermint and poppy: amber and myrrh. There in the silk drift of Lucius' long hair against his face, Abraxas catches a hint of gardenia, which is his daughter-in-law who will not risk her unborn son by daring this sickness.
Macabre, to think of her as Lucius' warm lips brush his own. Macabre, to think of his weakness here in this room with the man he had reared to despise such things. His hand trembles and refuses to obey when he tries to raise it.
"What is it, Father? What do you want?" Lucius' voice is a caress.
"You're enjoying this."
"Why, yes I am."
Abraxas smiles. "Good.”. His words are not slurred, even while dying. "Hate is so much more exciting. May I have some drinking water?"
"Hmm... no." Lucius' lips descend again, sweet and brutal, and Abraxas whispers strange phrases into Lucius’ mouth until the blood flows. He drifts.
+
There were boys in school, and there was blood. Mysteries hinted at in fragments and cloying sentimentality. The heads of house elves, desiccated and mummified in the Black house. There were corpses.
Wide, staring eyes of blue or brown. These without a spark of reason, without the shimmer of hope or laughter or sexual pleasure or pain. These eyes became the eyes of so many women and men, who in elegant abandon would spread themselves thin as rice paper for him and yield to the ecstasy he gave. It had been little more than a pleasant diversion, something to tear the mind from the mazes of one's own burning thought. But then...
...in a room that smelled of talcum powder and old sex, he'd carefully ruined the girl who had scorned him. He had seduced her, touched her sweet lithe body in ways she could not have dreamed, till her lips were a wide circle in the dark and the entire length of her body was a letter written in longing. He gave her his name and his honor, made for her a package of her dreams wrapped in ribbons of his kindness. But when she loved him, he turned away from her, to spend his nights with the sex of a curved knife and the ecstasy of agony and acid. He called strange names in darkened rooms. He never called her. He watched her hair turn white and her eyes grow mad.
+
Dead in the silence of a winter's day. The wind blew so harshly that it shattered spears of ice that hung from the old gnarled trees. Abraxas was in the garden, caressing the mummified bud of a guelder rose. When word of the arrival came, he stood smoothly, gathering his mantle about himself as if only outside words reminded him of the cold.
His young visitor waited in one of the parlors. The lit fire melted beads of snow in his black hair. A beautiful creature. Abraxas would forever be haunted by this man’s grace.
Lord Voldemort...
Twenty perhaps. Naked, pristine. His skin had the ethereal coldness of half-death, of soul-death, and matched Abraxas' own. Muscle played fascinatingly beneath the skin. His heat burned and electrified, and when their lips met there was nothing but violence and dominance and darkness. His soul shuddered and caught aflame. There... spidery fingers drifting across his belly. There... bruised lips circling his cock. A deadly game where twisted innuendo sparked a war and their bodies danced with pain-pleasure at every curse or love-phrase. Hurting, perfect, mine... and all that... hatred... his ambition glowed in his cold eyes... I needed... and all of this forever... but he went off to lose his humanity and I can understand that need.
Dead in the silence, afterward. Tom trailed his hands through long silver-streaked hair and murmured, "I must have you among mine." (But that had occurred years later, and...)
+
There is nothing here but the chill and the light. Lucius' pale hair could blind.
Bruised and open like a flower, he tries to pull those sweet lips back to his, to take their poison, but there was a time when there was no poison there. Only misguided love.
And across the scarred and bloodstained table of his laboratory, nude, his white skin gleaming and lightly pinked with cold... I need you, beautiful one.. dead fire somewhere on whitened coals... stared up at him, gleaming. The hard hot need ready in his eyes, as Abraxas ran the tips of his fingers along the skin of a virgin thigh.
"Please," he'd whispered (or was that Severus?). Yes, it had been. The visual flashed fully-conceived against his eyelids. More black hair, sweat-drenched, whipping around the harsh features that would one day seem cruel, but now seemed only haunted and half-starved. The emotion in his eyes snapped open and then shut. Hands, too gentle and also far too skilled. The mind that lay behind not a hundred words exchanged was subtle and deep as old still water. The sins of the fathers, O son of my heart.
And what had they said to each other? “I cannot allow you to open and close me like a book.”
“How sweet. Do you love me?”
“Could anyone really do such a thing?” (But Tom said that, for only Tom could slice his skin like a razor with simple words, and...)
+
"Love is a trap for fools."
Lucius’ natural knack for seduction... and sadism. Things out of order. There was the childish fumbling of the first time; an adolescent hand that trailed across Abraxas’ cheek. He opened his eyes and gazed into the silvered darkness of the room. Lucius stood there, fragile in a belted robe of green-nearly-black, his hair like space dust reflecting the distant starlight. Abraxas thought of astronomy and of the bruises his hands might leave just above those slim hips.
“What is it, my dear?” he murmured. He can no longer remember Lucius’ answer. All that is left in his mind is the sweet torment of that first kiss, its depth exquisite. Of that dark velvet parted to reveal skin that looked as white as if it were burning. Under his hands it was cold. Lucius’ soft gasps, and his body, spread above Abraxas, trembling. Cold lips kissing his earlobe, the side of his jaw, even his hair.
And the way it had felt to slide inside a star, to see the fear and love mingle in grey eyes. It was the only moment in his later life when he had lost control. Rough thrusts into blood, too hard. Lucius pressed back against him; breath whispered through his parted lips. Abraxas ran his nails so slowly over delicate skin. In places the blood flowed. Lucius’ mouth parted, a taut bud of pain that bloomed into ecstasy. Desire without love, transforming the sex-scented, humid air into...
...nothing.
+
"Lucius, I love you."
A heart stops.
What falls upon the withered cheek might be a tear, or only a bead of sweat from the humid hell of that room. A cold smile blossoms.
"Mine now, old man."
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex, chan, violence, cruelty, death
A/N: Second version dedicated to underlucius. Happy Valentine's Day!
The light, though dim, is so heavy upon his skin he feels suffocated by it. There is nothing in the room that can stop the chill he shivers with, though his pores seem to breathe only sweat and tight, thick pain. The blankets hurt his skin. He is conscious, for a moment, of where he is, shifting upon his bed. His weight pulls at his long hair, trapped in rough tangles beneath him. He feels the balm of cool, damp cloth upon his forehead.
"What time is it?" he whispers.
"Eight o'clock," is the crisp reply.
"Did you poison me?"
"No, Father, you're ill."
"Lucius? Poison is not contagious. Lie down beside me for a moment."
Lucius is amber amid the peppermint and poppy: amber and myrrh. There in the silk drift of Lucius' long hair against his face, Abraxas catches a hint of gardenia, which is his daughter-in-law who will not risk her unborn son by daring this sickness.
Macabre, to think of her as Lucius' warm lips brush his own. Macabre, to think of his weakness here in this room with the man he had reared to despise such things. His hand trembles and refuses to obey when he tries to raise it.
"What is it, Father? What do you want?" Lucius' voice is a caress.
"You're enjoying this."
"Why, yes I am."
Abraxas smiles. "Good.”. His words are not slurred, even while dying. "Hate is so much more exciting. May I have some drinking water?"
"Hmm... no." Lucius' lips descend again, sweet and brutal, and Abraxas whispers strange phrases into Lucius’ mouth until the blood flows. He drifts.
+
There were boys in school, and there was blood. Mysteries hinted at in fragments and cloying sentimentality. The heads of house elves, desiccated and mummified in the Black house. There were corpses.
Wide, staring eyes of blue or brown. These without a spark of reason, without the shimmer of hope or laughter or sexual pleasure or pain. These eyes became the eyes of so many women and men, who in elegant abandon would spread themselves thin as rice paper for him and yield to the ecstasy he gave. It had been little more than a pleasant diversion, something to tear the mind from the mazes of one's own burning thought. But then...
...in a room that smelled of talcum powder and old sex, he'd carefully ruined the girl who had scorned him. He had seduced her, touched her sweet lithe body in ways she could not have dreamed, till her lips were a wide circle in the dark and the entire length of her body was a letter written in longing. He gave her his name and his honor, made for her a package of her dreams wrapped in ribbons of his kindness. But when she loved him, he turned away from her, to spend his nights with the sex of a curved knife and the ecstasy of agony and acid. He called strange names in darkened rooms. He never called her. He watched her hair turn white and her eyes grow mad.
+
Dead in the silence of a winter's day. The wind blew so harshly that it shattered spears of ice that hung from the old gnarled trees. Abraxas was in the garden, caressing the mummified bud of a guelder rose. When word of the arrival came, he stood smoothly, gathering his mantle about himself as if only outside words reminded him of the cold.
His young visitor waited in one of the parlors. The lit fire melted beads of snow in his black hair. A beautiful creature. Abraxas would forever be haunted by this man’s grace.
Lord Voldemort...
Twenty perhaps. Naked, pristine. His skin had the ethereal coldness of half-death, of soul-death, and matched Abraxas' own. Muscle played fascinatingly beneath the skin. His heat burned and electrified, and when their lips met there was nothing but violence and dominance and darkness. His soul shuddered and caught aflame. There... spidery fingers drifting across his belly. There... bruised lips circling his cock. A deadly game where twisted innuendo sparked a war and their bodies danced with pain-pleasure at every curse or love-phrase. Hurting, perfect, mine... and all that... hatred... his ambition glowed in his cold eyes... I needed... and all of this forever... but he went off to lose his humanity and I can understand that need.
Dead in the silence, afterward. Tom trailed his hands through long silver-streaked hair and murmured, "I must have you among mine." (But that had occurred years later, and...)
+
There is nothing here but the chill and the light. Lucius' pale hair could blind.
Bruised and open like a flower, he tries to pull those sweet lips back to his, to take their poison, but there was a time when there was no poison there. Only misguided love.
And across the scarred and bloodstained table of his laboratory, nude, his white skin gleaming and lightly pinked with cold... I need you, beautiful one.. dead fire somewhere on whitened coals... stared up at him, gleaming. The hard hot need ready in his eyes, as Abraxas ran the tips of his fingers along the skin of a virgin thigh.
"Please," he'd whispered (or was that Severus?). Yes, it had been. The visual flashed fully-conceived against his eyelids. More black hair, sweat-drenched, whipping around the harsh features that would one day seem cruel, but now seemed only haunted and half-starved. The emotion in his eyes snapped open and then shut. Hands, too gentle and also far too skilled. The mind that lay behind not a hundred words exchanged was subtle and deep as old still water. The sins of the fathers, O son of my heart.
And what had they said to each other? “I cannot allow you to open and close me like a book.”
“How sweet. Do you love me?”
“Could anyone really do such a thing?” (But Tom said that, for only Tom could slice his skin like a razor with simple words, and...)
+
"Love is a trap for fools."
Lucius’ natural knack for seduction... and sadism. Things out of order. There was the childish fumbling of the first time; an adolescent hand that trailed across Abraxas’ cheek. He opened his eyes and gazed into the silvered darkness of the room. Lucius stood there, fragile in a belted robe of green-nearly-black, his hair like space dust reflecting the distant starlight. Abraxas thought of astronomy and of the bruises his hands might leave just above those slim hips.
“What is it, my dear?” he murmured. He can no longer remember Lucius’ answer. All that is left in his mind is the sweet torment of that first kiss, its depth exquisite. Of that dark velvet parted to reveal skin that looked as white as if it were burning. Under his hands it was cold. Lucius’ soft gasps, and his body, spread above Abraxas, trembling. Cold lips kissing his earlobe, the side of his jaw, even his hair.
And the way it had felt to slide inside a star, to see the fear and love mingle in grey eyes. It was the only moment in his later life when he had lost control. Rough thrusts into blood, too hard. Lucius pressed back against him; breath whispered through his parted lips. Abraxas ran his nails so slowly over delicate skin. In places the blood flowed. Lucius’ mouth parted, a taut bud of pain that bloomed into ecstasy. Desire without love, transforming the sex-scented, humid air into...
...nothing.
+
"Lucius, I love you."
A heart stops.
What falls upon the withered cheek might be a tear, or only a bead of sweat from the humid hell of that room. A cold smile blossoms.
"Mine now, old man."