Harry Potter fic: The sound is breaking all my bones
Pairing: Lucius/Narcissa
Rating: R
Length: 997 words
Status: Complete
Warnings: Sex, non-explicit mentions of violence and torture. Spoilers for DH.
Notes: Written for oxoniensis’s Porn Battle XII: The Dirty Dozen. Prompts used were silent, desperation, danger. Title from Seabird's "Patience."
The sound is breaking all my bones
The Dark Lord laughs. It’s a cold, cruel sound, echoing through the still air of the Manor like an angry ghost, hungry and terrible.
Lucius suppresses a shudder, searching for the strength of will not to shut his eyes at the sound. He knows all too well what it heralds. The Dark Lord took over the Manor months ago; since then the heavy silence has been broken only by the terrible whisper of the Dark Lord’s voice and the screams of his victims.
The witch on the table before him won’t die a quick death. She has shown defiance, and for that she must pay. It will be slow and painful, and the Dark Lord wants him to watch. So he keeps his eyes open, and watches.
The Mark on his arm throbs, and the screaming starts.
When it is finally over, the Dark Lord turns to him with a soft smile.
“You may go now, Lucius.”
He knows better than to leave, not with a body lying mutilated on the heirloom oak table before him. He suppresses another shudder and works to keep the tremor out of his voice. The Dark Lord does not tolerate any weakness from his followers, and his patience with Lucius these days is thin, so very thin.
“And the body, my Lord?”
“Leave it.” He motion to his companion, gently caressing the serpent’s scales. “Nagini will clean up this mess. Now go.”
He stands, bowing, and walks slowly from the room. The awful sounds of the snake feasting on the woman’s body follow him out.
When he finally reaches the room he shares with Narcissa - the Dark Lord has taken the master suite - he is no longer able to stop himself from shaking.
Spine rigid, Narcissa stands facing the window. She turns slowly as the door creaks open, sagging in relief when she sees him.
“Lucius,” she whispers, voice strained and brittle. The sound of it breaks something in him, and suddenly all he wants to do is run.
He wants to take Narcissa and Draco and run, as fast and as far as he can. Perhaps as a young man, rich and raised on pureblood ideals, he wanted this. The war. The Dark Mark burning on his forearm, the Dark Lord himself a guest in his house. Power at his fingertips, if only he were ruthless enough to seize it.
Now, Narcissa is a shell of her former self, pale and thin, flinching at every loud noise, and Draco is in Bellatrix’s tender care. Now, he finds that he is old and tired and terribly, terribly afraid. He does not want this.
“Narcissa- ” he begins, but her finger on his lips quiets him.
“We can’t, Lucius. We’ll never make it out alive. Or worse, we will.” The words are barely audible but they lash like whips against his skin.
It’s the truth. The Dark Lord does not suffer traitors.
“I don’t know what to do, Narcissa,” he admits quietly.
“I know, Lucius. I know. But that is the one thing we can never do.”
She grasps his hand with a strength he has not seen from her since the war began.
“Never,” she whispers again, her voice suddenly fierce. “I won’t lose Draco. I won’t lose you.”
Her grip on his hand tightens, and suddenly her lips are on his, violent and demanding.
“I won’t lose you” she hisses against his mouth, “I can’t.”
He has no response, simply lets her bear him down to the bed, struggling with his clothes as they hit the mattress. They haven’t had sex in months, too worn from terror to do anything but collapse into bed and hold each other. Now, it’s as though a dam has broken, and he is desperate to touch her.
She strips away his robes with deft fingers and grasps his cock, guiding him into her with no preamble. He grabs her hips and thrusts roughly against her, unable to wait for her to adjust to the feel of him as she always does. She bites back a moan, her head falling back to expose the pale column of her throat, tilting her hips and moving until they find a rhythm. It’s rushed and sloppy and his hands are too rough on her breasts, but it doesn’t matter. He pulls her down to him and her mouth finds his, tasting like desperation and fear, and her eyes are glittering with unshed tears when they break apart.
Narcissa never cries.
“Cissa,” he breathes, but she shakes her head and kisses him again, dragging his hand to their joined bodies.
It’s over quickly after that. He comes with a hushed groan, spending himself inside her and using his fingers to bring her over the edge after him. She collapses against his chest and he wraps his arms around her, holding her to him like he can protect them.
They both know it for a lie, but she makes no move to pull away.
They stay like that for a long time, the only sound to be heard their ragged breathing as they cling to each other, a hopeless attempt to hold off the world that waits for them outside the room.
Eventually, his Mark begins to burn, and the moment is gone. He slips out of her and gathers his clothes as she turns to her wand and magics them both clean. He dresses in silence and turns towards the door, stopping only to grasp her hand once more before he leaves.
“Go,” she says. Her voice is still brittle, but there is steel in her tone now. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
The Mark burns darker and darker on his arm, insistent, but he nods in response and tightens his fingers around hers before he turns and walks slowly down the hallway.
At the Dark Lord’s side once more, Lucius watches and wills himself not to shut his eyes when the silence shatters into a terrible scream.
Feedback is love!
Rating: R
Length: 997 words
Status: Complete
Warnings: Sex, non-explicit mentions of violence and torture. Spoilers for DH.
Notes: Written for oxoniensis’s Porn Battle XII: The Dirty Dozen. Prompts used were silent, desperation, danger. Title from Seabird's "Patience."
The sound is breaking all my bones
The Dark Lord laughs. It’s a cold, cruel sound, echoing through the still air of the Manor like an angry ghost, hungry and terrible.
Lucius suppresses a shudder, searching for the strength of will not to shut his eyes at the sound. He knows all too well what it heralds. The Dark Lord took over the Manor months ago; since then the heavy silence has been broken only by the terrible whisper of the Dark Lord’s voice and the screams of his victims.
The witch on the table before him won’t die a quick death. She has shown defiance, and for that she must pay. It will be slow and painful, and the Dark Lord wants him to watch. So he keeps his eyes open, and watches.
The Mark on his arm throbs, and the screaming starts.
When it is finally over, the Dark Lord turns to him with a soft smile.
“You may go now, Lucius.”
He knows better than to leave, not with a body lying mutilated on the heirloom oak table before him. He suppresses another shudder and works to keep the tremor out of his voice. The Dark Lord does not tolerate any weakness from his followers, and his patience with Lucius these days is thin, so very thin.
“And the body, my Lord?”
“Leave it.” He motion to his companion, gently caressing the serpent’s scales. “Nagini will clean up this mess. Now go.”
He stands, bowing, and walks slowly from the room. The awful sounds of the snake feasting on the woman’s body follow him out.
When he finally reaches the room he shares with Narcissa - the Dark Lord has taken the master suite - he is no longer able to stop himself from shaking.
Spine rigid, Narcissa stands facing the window. She turns slowly as the door creaks open, sagging in relief when she sees him.
“Lucius,” she whispers, voice strained and brittle. The sound of it breaks something in him, and suddenly all he wants to do is run.
He wants to take Narcissa and Draco and run, as fast and as far as he can. Perhaps as a young man, rich and raised on pureblood ideals, he wanted this. The war. The Dark Mark burning on his forearm, the Dark Lord himself a guest in his house. Power at his fingertips, if only he were ruthless enough to seize it.
Now, Narcissa is a shell of her former self, pale and thin, flinching at every loud noise, and Draco is in Bellatrix’s tender care. Now, he finds that he is old and tired and terribly, terribly afraid. He does not want this.
“Narcissa- ” he begins, but her finger on his lips quiets him.
“We can’t, Lucius. We’ll never make it out alive. Or worse, we will.” The words are barely audible but they lash like whips against his skin.
It’s the truth. The Dark Lord does not suffer traitors.
“I don’t know what to do, Narcissa,” he admits quietly.
“I know, Lucius. I know. But that is the one thing we can never do.”
She grasps his hand with a strength he has not seen from her since the war began.
“Never,” she whispers again, her voice suddenly fierce. “I won’t lose Draco. I won’t lose you.”
Her grip on his hand tightens, and suddenly her lips are on his, violent and demanding.
“I won’t lose you” she hisses against his mouth, “I can’t.”
He has no response, simply lets her bear him down to the bed, struggling with his clothes as they hit the mattress. They haven’t had sex in months, too worn from terror to do anything but collapse into bed and hold each other. Now, it’s as though a dam has broken, and he is desperate to touch her.
She strips away his robes with deft fingers and grasps his cock, guiding him into her with no preamble. He grabs her hips and thrusts roughly against her, unable to wait for her to adjust to the feel of him as she always does. She bites back a moan, her head falling back to expose the pale column of her throat, tilting her hips and moving until they find a rhythm. It’s rushed and sloppy and his hands are too rough on her breasts, but it doesn’t matter. He pulls her down to him and her mouth finds his, tasting like desperation and fear, and her eyes are glittering with unshed tears when they break apart.
Narcissa never cries.
“Cissa,” he breathes, but she shakes her head and kisses him again, dragging his hand to their joined bodies.
It’s over quickly after that. He comes with a hushed groan, spending himself inside her and using his fingers to bring her over the edge after him. She collapses against his chest and he wraps his arms around her, holding her to him like he can protect them.
They both know it for a lie, but she makes no move to pull away.
They stay like that for a long time, the only sound to be heard their ragged breathing as they cling to each other, a hopeless attempt to hold off the world that waits for them outside the room.
Eventually, his Mark begins to burn, and the moment is gone. He slips out of her and gathers his clothes as she turns to her wand and magics them both clean. He dresses in silence and turns towards the door, stopping only to grasp her hand once more before he leaves.
“Go,” she says. Her voice is still brittle, but there is steel in her tone now. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
The Mark burns darker and darker on his arm, insistent, but he nods in response and tightens his fingers around hers before he turns and walks slowly down the hallway.
At the Dark Lord’s side once more, Lucius watches and wills himself not to shut his eyes when the silence shatters into a terrible scream.
Feedback is love!