Three Lucius/Moody ficlets, rated R/NC-17
These three Lucius/Moody ficlets I call my "Leonard Cohen Series", as they're slightly influenced by some of Leonard Cohen's music. There will probably be another, perhaps two more, in the series in the future... but I don't really count these as a WIP as each can stand alone as a ficlet in its own right. I must warn for slash, light BDSM and angst in the first two, and implied rape and violence and hurt/comfort in the third.
Title: No Way To Say Goodbye
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Lucius/Moody
Summary: Can Lucius ever tell the man he loves what he really is?
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: M/M slash, light BDSM, probably AU
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K. Rowling. Their perversions are mostly orchestrated by yours truly.
A/N: This fic is set when Lucius is a young man; he has already married Narcissa but Draco has not yet been conceived. I am not sure when Moody lost his leg and eye in canon, but for the purposes of this fic I am surmising that he is scarred but still possesses all his natural body parts.
"I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
Your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
Yes many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
But let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye."
- from "Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye" by Leonard Cohen
On mornings like this, it was usually Alastor who woke first, kissing Lucius awake, softly parting his lips with a searching tongue or nuzzling at his neck. Carding the skilful fingers of one hand through the length of Lucius' white-blond tresses, while the other hand moved slyly down over Lucius' lightly flushed warm body to cup his balls. This, along with the enticing blend of endearments, poetry and filthy words Alastor would whisper to him in a sensual, purring growl always aroused Lucius to a fever pitch; Lucius would pretend to pout then, teasingly petulant, and playfully demand that Alastor stop fooling around and just fuck him. And Alastor would, taking his younger lover hard and deep, but always with an edge of care and tenderness.
Today, however, it was Lucius' face the first rays of sunlight fell upon, filtered by the crimson velvet drapes covering Moody's bedroom windows. Sliding gently from the older man's embrace so as not to disturb him, Lucius rose from the bed and refreshed himself with a glass of ice-cold water, subtly flavoured with lemon and chilled mint.
Memories of the past night's carnal raptures flooded back into his mind. Delicious recollections of how he had Moody slowly strip himself bare in the dining hall and bend over the grand oak table, his scarred, time-worn but still strong and shapely body exposed to Lucius' caressing gaze and touch. Thrusting fiercely into the older man, Lucius had twisted one hand in Alastor's tumbling iron-grey hair whilst using the other to trap his lover's hardness with a cock-ring. Taunting with commands and words of love, Lucius forbade the Auror release till he allowed the blond wizard to pull his cock from inside Alastor and replace it slowly, tantalisingly, with one oiled finger after another, until Lucius' entire hand was sheathed deep in the tight velvet heat of Moody. Stretching him wider and filling him more intensely than anyone ever had. Pounding him mercilessly until both lovers seemed to flow into each other, fusing and melting with sweat and lust and a newly born sense of completion, of aliveness they had never sensed before.
Thoughts like these would normally bring a smile to Lucius' lips. But as this day dawned, his heart was heavy, unaccustomed pangs of conscience gnawing at his peace of mind.
It had been a perfectly Slytherin deception, concealing his passion for Alastor from the Dark Lord, from his Death Eater cronies, and from Narcissa, his bride of but a few months. For these lies and deliberate omissions, Lucius felt no guilt whatsoever. In his eyes, he was perfectly justified in keeping secrets from whomever he chose.
From everyone, that is, except the man he loved.
Aside from the child that Lucius hoped to father someday, Moody was the one who meant the most to him. Of all those known to Lucius, Alastor had always been the only person who loved him for who he was, who cared for him as a human being rather than as a means to an end. Voldemort may have seen Lucius as a powerful ally, loyal servant and surpassingly alluring sexual plaything; Narcissa may have prized Lucius as an indulgent and wealthy spouse who could provide her with every luxury she desired, but Moody was the only one who made Lucius feel truly cherished, flesh and blood, valued and real.
Alastor had no inkling that Lucius was a Death Eater, a Dark wizard, one of those despised beings that as an Auror Moody was sworn to bring to justice. If Moody knew, Lucius told himself, a cold knot forming in his stomach, it would be the end of their love, and the start of a bitter enmity. Yet part of Lucius felt he must someday reveal his secret, despite the consequences. Alastor esteemed integrity above all else, had never been anything but honest, open and trusting with his lover. Lucius knew that he owed Moody the same honesty, even if it meant the death of everything.
A single tear slipped down Lucius' pale cheek; the proud, pure-blooded Malfoy was not one to weep easily, but the thought of losing Moody was ripping him apart. He must have made a small, strangled sob low in his throat, for he heard Alastor call, saw him sit up and reach for Lucius, entreating him back to bed, back to Moody's arms.
Held close against the nakedness and warmth of his beloved, Lucius felt the familiar comforting caress of Moody's gentle mouth on his, felt sweet pressure of gnarled and knowing fingers stroking away his tears, then massaging every glorious inch of Lucius' slim yet toned and muscled torso. Unresisting, Lucius allowed Moody to turn him over, raising his hips in unrestrained, ecstatic submission as Alastor tenderly prised apart his buttocks and began to tongue the delicate clenched pucker of his entrance. Lucius moaned, surrendering to his beloved's consummate skill and for now unwavering devotion.
His confession could wait for another day... or year. Or until Alastor Moody discovered the truth for himself.
Lucius only hoped he could perfect a spell or falsehood powerful enough to save their love.
~ Fin.
Title: Broken Hallelujah
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Lucius/Moody
Summary: Lucius doesn't know that Alastor already has an idea of what's being kept secret from him...
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: M/M slash, light BDSM, probably AU
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K. Rowling. Any smut herein is my responsibility and pleasure.
A/N: A sequel to "No Way To Say Goodbye". (thanks to underlucius for suggesting this!) It's from Moody's POV this time.
"You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah"
- from "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen
In many eyes, my love, you are the worst of sinners. A sensuous blond demon, seducing all before you with your form, your eyes, your wealth and power. Great rulers would fall naked to their knees to gain possession of you; for one night of your love they would gladly consign their immortal souls to Hell. Yet when you speak my name it sound holy upon your lips, a sacrament fit for the angels. Your touch on my vulnerable skin is always blessed; our first kiss was a marriage vow, and the first time you spread your luscious tightness open for me and begged for me inside you was the consummation of a union and an ecstasy beyond the nuptial nights of common mortals. And last night when I bent before you, stripped and aching, feeling your whole hand moving within me and claiming everything I am and was and ever will be, I knew that we were more wedded to each other than you will ever be to that haughty young slip of a girl the world knows as your wife.
Even your name seems bright, angelic, far above the mediocrity of life in either realm, wizarding or Muggle. When I whisper it I feel I have uttered the name of a god, an incantation that carries the feel and fragrance of your silver-blond hair, softer than summer clouds and warm as sunlight on the ocean, towards my yearning, needing senses.
You are more perfectly beautiful than any man created, and yet it is not merely the loveliness of your form that enchants me. It is everything about you - your passion, your strength, your appetite for life and all its wonders. You have a vision beyond the ordinary; ambition unparalleled, pride unfettered, and the determination to bring your desires to life. Even at the times we disagree, my fair elitist, my challenging aristocrat, I am in awe of your persuasiveness. My love, you find pleasure and beauty in places where lesser men would never think to look. I am ageing and battle-scarred, and yet you stroke my grizzled hair with admiration, and kiss the old wounds on my body as if you found them pleasing. That never fails to melt me almost to the point of tears.
As I wake, I see you by the nightstand, eyes wet and a sob torn freshly from your throat. An air of sorrow and desperation clings to your usually proud stature, and my instinct as an Auror and a lover tells me what disturbs your thoughts without me having to ask it of you. I frown, my heart suddenly leaden, sinking, but raise my arms towards you, calling you to my embrace.
Of course, this Voldemort, this madman who styles himself the Dark Lord, would have brought you into his following. From what I know of him, he has a fanatical belief in the superiority of pure wizarding blood, and a scorn bordering on loathing for the Muggle-born, as do you, my fallen angel. And with such desirability as you possess, beloved, it would neither surprise nor shock me (although it would grieve me to the bitterest of tears and boil my blood with jealousy) if he has already made you his concubine. Rumour has it that this so-called Lord beds many of his followers - the finest and the fairest of the pure-bloods, women, men and even children, are all subject to his depravity and lust.
As you sink back into bed, into my arms, my kiss, my caresses, I silently pray that you will not speak of him to me. For you know as surely as I do myself that if you were to confess your allegiance to my enemy, our love would have to die. I would respect your honesty for confessing this most heinous of sins, but there could be no forgiveness, no reconciliation. Although it would destroy my heart, my faith, and almost everything meaningful in life for me, I would forsake you, Lucius. I could never join his ranks, and I know that you would never risk his wrath by deserting him for me. All that would be left for us would be to part as foes, or to kill each other then and there. Perhaps the latter would be best, my love - remaining alive without our passion, without the merging of our two souls into one every time we open to each other, would be a Hell on earth, a living death.
Moaning my name, clutching at the bedclothes with white-knuckled fingers, you allow me to turn and spread you wide, whimpering as I run my tongue along your cleft, tasting the salt sweetness and perfection of your vulnerability, wetting your opening lightly; a precursor to the more abundant flow of lubrication that will later follow when you crave my hardness filling your vulnerability once again. One of us within the other, our boundaries of self being blurred each time, that is the glory that we hunger for with each drawn breath.
As long as you do not name him in my presence, my angel cast from Heaven. As long as I have your silence, and the illusion that your flesh and spirit are first and foremost mine.
~ Fin.
Title: Take This Longing
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Lucius/Moody (main), Lucius/Voldemort (others implied)
Summary: The first war. Alastor has been captured by Voldemort's Death Eaters... but receives help from an unexpected source
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: M/M slash, some BDSM, implied violence and rape, hurt/comfort, probably AU
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K. Rowling. Anything else herein is the product of my over-caffeinated imagination.
A/N: This was sort of suggested by the lovely playingthetart - she wanted to see something from Lucius' POV, so here it is.
"Just take this longing from my tongue,
all the useless things my hands have done,
let me see your beauty broken down,
like you would do for one you love."
from "Take This Longing" by Leonard Cohen
You were already a scarred old warrior when I first loved you; in those happier times I could look upon the ravages left by past injuries on that still exquisite, always beloved body of yours with admiration for your fortitude and without recoiling. But to see you now, lying nude, battered and bleeding on the cold stone floor of the Dark Lord's dungeon, crippled and wretched, a meagre pile of straw your only comfort, breaks my heart and blurs my eyes with fiery, stinging tears.
Only through the most seductive of persuasion, gently insinuating to my Lord that the Ministry of Magic's finest Auror is more valuable to us alive and coherent than left to slowly perish from cold and hunger, have I been able to ease your suffering. Only through long gruelling hours spent kneeling before my Master, taking his hardness deep into my throat and worshipping him with avid lips and tongue as well as the devotion of my gaze, hearing him hiss with satisfaction as he savours my attentions and watches while Macnair stands behind me and whips my shoulders, have I been able to procure for you food and blankets. Concealed amongst the bundles of meat and bread and wool are healing potions that I have obtained for you at great risk. Young Severus Snape, so skilled in brewing these, gives me what I ask of him without question, enamoured of me as he is. The power of another's unrequited desire cannot be underestimated when seeking to achieve one's own ends...
I bathe and treat your wounds each time I bring you sustenance; my high rank amongst the Death Eaters means that nobody dares to disturb me or interfere. As I caress your still firm and muscular chest, smearing a restorative salve on every bruise and laceration, I notice some of the old tenderness you once felt for me creep back into the unblinking stare of your one good eye. No sign yet of the old trust - I believe it will take as many years as I have lived and more for that to return, if it ever does.
Much wooing of Walden Macnair, much submission to his vicious lash upon my bare skin and bending for the pounding thrusts of his massive cock, has won from him a promise that he himself will no longer harm you, despite his boundless blood-lust, unless he is given a direct order from Lord Voldemort. That much protection I have been able to provide, beloved. But I cannot prevent the Dark Lord's other torturers from inflicting agony - Travers, Dolohov, the Lestranges (may all the gods safeguard you from my wife's sister and her madness!)... I shudder at what you have yet to endure at their hands.
Speaking in my softest, most soothing tones, I sponge the encrusted filth from your pain-wracked flesh and gently smooth cool ointment across your violated opening. The anguish and resignation upon your beautiful but tortured face betray the shame within you, that the vile indignity of rape was added to your torment. One day, my love, I will avenge that ignominy. I swear it on the pure blood of my ancestors. Although I am bound for life to my Lord Voldemort and to his cause, my first loyalty as a Malfoy has always been to my own and to the dictates of my heart. And that heart still aches for you, Alastor, still prizes you above all those that I have loved.
I lay a silencing finger upon your lips as you struggle to pronounce my name; I long to stay beside you for this night and more, but it cannot be. Instead, I bestow upon you what little pleasure I can before I leave. I begin to reverently stroke the swollen warmth of your erection, slick with medicative balm, cradling your precious ball sac softly with the palm of my other hand, whispering how glorious you are to me whilst I bring to you the rapture of release.
With each of my visits, lover, you will grow in strength and soon be able to make your escape. And when you are at last a free man, Alastor Moody, I pray that you will remember with a stray kind thought or two the man who bears the mark of your enemy, but who will adore you far beyond the end of any war, perhaps beyond the end of life itself.
~ Fin.
Love & Serpents' Kisses,
Anath.
Title: No Way To Say Goodbye
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Lucius/Moody
Summary: Can Lucius ever tell the man he loves what he really is?
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: M/M slash, light BDSM, probably AU
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K. Rowling. Their perversions are mostly orchestrated by yours truly.
A/N: This fic is set when Lucius is a young man; he has already married Narcissa but Draco has not yet been conceived. I am not sure when Moody lost his leg and eye in canon, but for the purposes of this fic I am surmising that he is scarred but still possesses all his natural body parts.
"I loved you in the morning, our kisses deep and warm,
Your hair upon the pillow like a sleepy golden storm,
Yes many loved before us, I know that we are not new,
In city and in forest they smiled like me and you,
But let's not talk of love or chains and things we can't untie,
Your eyes are soft with sorrow,
Hey, that's no way to say goodbye."
- from "Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye" by Leonard Cohen
On mornings like this, it was usually Alastor who woke first, kissing Lucius awake, softly parting his lips with a searching tongue or nuzzling at his neck. Carding the skilful fingers of one hand through the length of Lucius' white-blond tresses, while the other hand moved slyly down over Lucius' lightly flushed warm body to cup his balls. This, along with the enticing blend of endearments, poetry and filthy words Alastor would whisper to him in a sensual, purring growl always aroused Lucius to a fever pitch; Lucius would pretend to pout then, teasingly petulant, and playfully demand that Alastor stop fooling around and just fuck him. And Alastor would, taking his younger lover hard and deep, but always with an edge of care and tenderness.
Today, however, it was Lucius' face the first rays of sunlight fell upon, filtered by the crimson velvet drapes covering Moody's bedroom windows. Sliding gently from the older man's embrace so as not to disturb him, Lucius rose from the bed and refreshed himself with a glass of ice-cold water, subtly flavoured with lemon and chilled mint.
Memories of the past night's carnal raptures flooded back into his mind. Delicious recollections of how he had Moody slowly strip himself bare in the dining hall and bend over the grand oak table, his scarred, time-worn but still strong and shapely body exposed to Lucius' caressing gaze and touch. Thrusting fiercely into the older man, Lucius had twisted one hand in Alastor's tumbling iron-grey hair whilst using the other to trap his lover's hardness with a cock-ring. Taunting with commands and words of love, Lucius forbade the Auror release till he allowed the blond wizard to pull his cock from inside Alastor and replace it slowly, tantalisingly, with one oiled finger after another, until Lucius' entire hand was sheathed deep in the tight velvet heat of Moody. Stretching him wider and filling him more intensely than anyone ever had. Pounding him mercilessly until both lovers seemed to flow into each other, fusing and melting with sweat and lust and a newly born sense of completion, of aliveness they had never sensed before.
Thoughts like these would normally bring a smile to Lucius' lips. But as this day dawned, his heart was heavy, unaccustomed pangs of conscience gnawing at his peace of mind.
It had been a perfectly Slytherin deception, concealing his passion for Alastor from the Dark Lord, from his Death Eater cronies, and from Narcissa, his bride of but a few months. For these lies and deliberate omissions, Lucius felt no guilt whatsoever. In his eyes, he was perfectly justified in keeping secrets from whomever he chose.
From everyone, that is, except the man he loved.
Aside from the child that Lucius hoped to father someday, Moody was the one who meant the most to him. Of all those known to Lucius, Alastor had always been the only person who loved him for who he was, who cared for him as a human being rather than as a means to an end. Voldemort may have seen Lucius as a powerful ally, loyal servant and surpassingly alluring sexual plaything; Narcissa may have prized Lucius as an indulgent and wealthy spouse who could provide her with every luxury she desired, but Moody was the only one who made Lucius feel truly cherished, flesh and blood, valued and real.
Alastor had no inkling that Lucius was a Death Eater, a Dark wizard, one of those despised beings that as an Auror Moody was sworn to bring to justice. If Moody knew, Lucius told himself, a cold knot forming in his stomach, it would be the end of their love, and the start of a bitter enmity. Yet part of Lucius felt he must someday reveal his secret, despite the consequences. Alastor esteemed integrity above all else, had never been anything but honest, open and trusting with his lover. Lucius knew that he owed Moody the same honesty, even if it meant the death of everything.
A single tear slipped down Lucius' pale cheek; the proud, pure-blooded Malfoy was not one to weep easily, but the thought of losing Moody was ripping him apart. He must have made a small, strangled sob low in his throat, for he heard Alastor call, saw him sit up and reach for Lucius, entreating him back to bed, back to Moody's arms.
Held close against the nakedness and warmth of his beloved, Lucius felt the familiar comforting caress of Moody's gentle mouth on his, felt sweet pressure of gnarled and knowing fingers stroking away his tears, then massaging every glorious inch of Lucius' slim yet toned and muscled torso. Unresisting, Lucius allowed Moody to turn him over, raising his hips in unrestrained, ecstatic submission as Alastor tenderly prised apart his buttocks and began to tongue the delicate clenched pucker of his entrance. Lucius moaned, surrendering to his beloved's consummate skill and for now unwavering devotion.
His confession could wait for another day... or year. Or until Alastor Moody discovered the truth for himself.
Lucius only hoped he could perfect a spell or falsehood powerful enough to save their love.
~ Fin.
Title: Broken Hallelujah
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Lucius/Moody
Summary: Lucius doesn't know that Alastor already has an idea of what's being kept secret from him...
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: M/M slash, light BDSM, probably AU
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K. Rowling. Any smut herein is my responsibility and pleasure.
A/N: A sequel to "No Way To Say Goodbye". (thanks to underlucius for suggesting this!) It's from Moody's POV this time.
"You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah"
- from "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen
In many eyes, my love, you are the worst of sinners. A sensuous blond demon, seducing all before you with your form, your eyes, your wealth and power. Great rulers would fall naked to their knees to gain possession of you; for one night of your love they would gladly consign their immortal souls to Hell. Yet when you speak my name it sound holy upon your lips, a sacrament fit for the angels. Your touch on my vulnerable skin is always blessed; our first kiss was a marriage vow, and the first time you spread your luscious tightness open for me and begged for me inside you was the consummation of a union and an ecstasy beyond the nuptial nights of common mortals. And last night when I bent before you, stripped and aching, feeling your whole hand moving within me and claiming everything I am and was and ever will be, I knew that we were more wedded to each other than you will ever be to that haughty young slip of a girl the world knows as your wife.
Even your name seems bright, angelic, far above the mediocrity of life in either realm, wizarding or Muggle. When I whisper it I feel I have uttered the name of a god, an incantation that carries the feel and fragrance of your silver-blond hair, softer than summer clouds and warm as sunlight on the ocean, towards my yearning, needing senses.
You are more perfectly beautiful than any man created, and yet it is not merely the loveliness of your form that enchants me. It is everything about you - your passion, your strength, your appetite for life and all its wonders. You have a vision beyond the ordinary; ambition unparalleled, pride unfettered, and the determination to bring your desires to life. Even at the times we disagree, my fair elitist, my challenging aristocrat, I am in awe of your persuasiveness. My love, you find pleasure and beauty in places where lesser men would never think to look. I am ageing and battle-scarred, and yet you stroke my grizzled hair with admiration, and kiss the old wounds on my body as if you found them pleasing. That never fails to melt me almost to the point of tears.
As I wake, I see you by the nightstand, eyes wet and a sob torn freshly from your throat. An air of sorrow and desperation clings to your usually proud stature, and my instinct as an Auror and a lover tells me what disturbs your thoughts without me having to ask it of you. I frown, my heart suddenly leaden, sinking, but raise my arms towards you, calling you to my embrace.
Of course, this Voldemort, this madman who styles himself the Dark Lord, would have brought you into his following. From what I know of him, he has a fanatical belief in the superiority of pure wizarding blood, and a scorn bordering on loathing for the Muggle-born, as do you, my fallen angel. And with such desirability as you possess, beloved, it would neither surprise nor shock me (although it would grieve me to the bitterest of tears and boil my blood with jealousy) if he has already made you his concubine. Rumour has it that this so-called Lord beds many of his followers - the finest and the fairest of the pure-bloods, women, men and even children, are all subject to his depravity and lust.
As you sink back into bed, into my arms, my kiss, my caresses, I silently pray that you will not speak of him to me. For you know as surely as I do myself that if you were to confess your allegiance to my enemy, our love would have to die. I would respect your honesty for confessing this most heinous of sins, but there could be no forgiveness, no reconciliation. Although it would destroy my heart, my faith, and almost everything meaningful in life for me, I would forsake you, Lucius. I could never join his ranks, and I know that you would never risk his wrath by deserting him for me. All that would be left for us would be to part as foes, or to kill each other then and there. Perhaps the latter would be best, my love - remaining alive without our passion, without the merging of our two souls into one every time we open to each other, would be a Hell on earth, a living death.
Moaning my name, clutching at the bedclothes with white-knuckled fingers, you allow me to turn and spread you wide, whimpering as I run my tongue along your cleft, tasting the salt sweetness and perfection of your vulnerability, wetting your opening lightly; a precursor to the more abundant flow of lubrication that will later follow when you crave my hardness filling your vulnerability once again. One of us within the other, our boundaries of self being blurred each time, that is the glory that we hunger for with each drawn breath.
As long as you do not name him in my presence, my angel cast from Heaven. As long as I have your silence, and the illusion that your flesh and spirit are first and foremost mine.
~ Fin.
Title: Take This Longing
Author: Anath de Malfoy
Pairing: Lucius/Moody (main), Lucius/Voldemort (others implied)
Summary: The first war. Alastor has been captured by Voldemort's Death Eaters... but receives help from an unexpected source
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: M/M slash, some BDSM, implied violence and rape, hurt/comfort, probably AU
Possible Spoilers: Books 1-5
Disclaimer: All characters and profits belong to J.K. Rowling. Anything else herein is the product of my over-caffeinated imagination.
A/N: This was sort of suggested by the lovely playingthetart - she wanted to see something from Lucius' POV, so here it is.
"Just take this longing from my tongue,
all the useless things my hands have done,
let me see your beauty broken down,
like you would do for one you love."
from "Take This Longing" by Leonard Cohen
You were already a scarred old warrior when I first loved you; in those happier times I could look upon the ravages left by past injuries on that still exquisite, always beloved body of yours with admiration for your fortitude and without recoiling. But to see you now, lying nude, battered and bleeding on the cold stone floor of the Dark Lord's dungeon, crippled and wretched, a meagre pile of straw your only comfort, breaks my heart and blurs my eyes with fiery, stinging tears.
Only through the most seductive of persuasion, gently insinuating to my Lord that the Ministry of Magic's finest Auror is more valuable to us alive and coherent than left to slowly perish from cold and hunger, have I been able to ease your suffering. Only through long gruelling hours spent kneeling before my Master, taking his hardness deep into my throat and worshipping him with avid lips and tongue as well as the devotion of my gaze, hearing him hiss with satisfaction as he savours my attentions and watches while Macnair stands behind me and whips my shoulders, have I been able to procure for you food and blankets. Concealed amongst the bundles of meat and bread and wool are healing potions that I have obtained for you at great risk. Young Severus Snape, so skilled in brewing these, gives me what I ask of him without question, enamoured of me as he is. The power of another's unrequited desire cannot be underestimated when seeking to achieve one's own ends...
I bathe and treat your wounds each time I bring you sustenance; my high rank amongst the Death Eaters means that nobody dares to disturb me or interfere. As I caress your still firm and muscular chest, smearing a restorative salve on every bruise and laceration, I notice some of the old tenderness you once felt for me creep back into the unblinking stare of your one good eye. No sign yet of the old trust - I believe it will take as many years as I have lived and more for that to return, if it ever does.
Much wooing of Walden Macnair, much submission to his vicious lash upon my bare skin and bending for the pounding thrusts of his massive cock, has won from him a promise that he himself will no longer harm you, despite his boundless blood-lust, unless he is given a direct order from Lord Voldemort. That much protection I have been able to provide, beloved. But I cannot prevent the Dark Lord's other torturers from inflicting agony - Travers, Dolohov, the Lestranges (may all the gods safeguard you from my wife's sister and her madness!)... I shudder at what you have yet to endure at their hands.
Speaking in my softest, most soothing tones, I sponge the encrusted filth from your pain-wracked flesh and gently smooth cool ointment across your violated opening. The anguish and resignation upon your beautiful but tortured face betray the shame within you, that the vile indignity of rape was added to your torment. One day, my love, I will avenge that ignominy. I swear it on the pure blood of my ancestors. Although I am bound for life to my Lord Voldemort and to his cause, my first loyalty as a Malfoy has always been to my own and to the dictates of my heart. And that heart still aches for you, Alastor, still prizes you above all those that I have loved.
I lay a silencing finger upon your lips as you struggle to pronounce my name; I long to stay beside you for this night and more, but it cannot be. Instead, I bestow upon you what little pleasure I can before I leave. I begin to reverently stroke the swollen warmth of your erection, slick with medicative balm, cradling your precious ball sac softly with the palm of my other hand, whispering how glorious you are to me whilst I bring to you the rapture of release.
With each of my visits, lover, you will grow in strength and soon be able to make your escape. And when you are at last a free man, Alastor Moody, I pray that you will remember with a stray kind thought or two the man who bears the mark of your enemy, but who will adore you far beyond the end of any war, perhaps beyond the end of life itself.
~ Fin.
Love & Serpents' Kisses,
Anath.