"Living in Sin" 1/5 (Lucius/Regulus, Rated NC-17)
Title: "Living in Sin"
Author: Skellywag
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Lucius/Regulus
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Alternate timeline. Regulus's life is not progressing as he had expected, and an arranged marriage to Lucius Malfoy is only the beginning.
Warnings: Unapologetically long, underage? sex (Regulus is 16 to Lucius's 23), dubcon, creative use of made-up magic, public sex, mPreg, bloodplay-after a fashion, gore, torture, violence directed towards both children and adults.
A/N: Written for hp-yule-balls. First and foremost, my everlasting gratitude to my lovely beta fitz-y, who has been a wealth of support, advice, and cheerleading. This wouldn’t be half the fic it is without her, and I don't mean in terms of word count. Also a big thank-you to jaylee-g for the info about pregnancy, who helped me (I hope) make this a much more realistic mPreg than it would otherwise be. All remaining mistakes are mine alone. Thanks also to the wonderful mods at hp-yule-balls and their patience; this monster took a little longer than I'd expected to get written, and I hope it's worth the extra time it took me.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
The arbitrator was a youngish man called Mr. Bole, and Regulus was impressed by the way he could make his voice drone like someone twice his age. Mr. Bole was reading out the newest version of the contract, the sixth and hopefully the last, and though this incarnation had only a few differences from the previous one, it was being read in its entirety.
This contract affected Regulus's life. It mapped out his future for him, and the boy knew he should have been listening; however, all Regulus could think about was the look Sirius would pull when he found out. How he would laugh! Sirius had avoided this fate himself half a hundred ways by the age of twelve, and running away and getting himself disowned had only been the culmination of his hard work. Regulus obeyed his parents without reluctance or resentment and relished being a source of pride to them; it was only the echo of his brother's laughter inside his head that made this process uncomfortable.
Before he was twelve, Sirius had been betrothed three times. Each had been broken by the parents of the intended after a truly horrifying display of misbehaviour. In the last instance, Sirius had told the parents of the Bulstrode girl that he would rather join the muggle circus and marry the lamia who masqueraded as a snake lady than marry their troll-faced daughter. After that, there had been no more marriage offers for Sirius, and though Regulus had always been polite when introduced to prospective mates, his parents had been rather more careful not to make any agreements for their second son.
That grace period had expired. Regulus sat between his parents and strove to focus upon a contract that detailed the conditions of his impending marriage. It shouldn't have been difficult; he didn't even have to participate in the negotiations. He was required only to sit still and speak when spoken to, and perhaps sign the contract once it was fully agreed upon, though it was his parents' signatures that were truly important. Sixteen-year-olds didn't have the right to sign their own contracts, so this was only to be expected.
Regulus told himself he was having a hard time paying attention because Mr. Bole had a voice that could make a quidditch match sound positively dull, and that was certainly part of the reason. But really, he didn't need an arbitrator to tell him for a sixth time that his bargaining position was so weak. The Blacks had made far more concessions than they had attained. His family possessed great material and monetary wealth, but the sum of Sirius's behaviour, the fact that he had associated freely with mudbloods and muggle-sympathizers for years before ultimately being disowned; this had all combined to severely hurt their reputation and social standing. Privately, Regulus thought it was as much his parents' fault for allowing Sirius's delinquency to continue as it was his brother's, but he knew better than to say so. And anyway, laying blame could do nothing for him now.
The effect upon his marriage prospects hadn't bothered him, though he knew it would have eventually become an issue if he couldn't find someone willing to marry him. However, status and position affected more than just his list of potential mates. A year ago, Regulus might easily have joined Lord Voldemort's ranks of death eaters on his own merit; now, he was a potential blood traitor, synonymous with his brother through no fault of his own. He could not be trusted without a death eater to vouch for him, and be held accountable for any mistakes he made. Even his own cousin Bellatrix had been unwilling to take this minor risk for him.
Purebloods were flocking to join Voldemort; the man could afford to pick and choose. The dark lord was smart and cautious, and despite the inconvenience it placed upon him, Regulus found he admired this reticence. It was Sirius he resented. Sirius, who preferred mudbloods and blood traitors to his own family. Sirius, with whom he would forever be connected, guilt by association. Regulus stared across the table, careful with his expression as Mr. Bole monotoned. If all went well, perhaps he could wipe his slate clean of familial disgrace.
Lucius Malfoy and his father sat on the opposite side of the table. This man was seven years his senior, who Regulus had thought all but married to his cousin, Narcissa. But apparently the betrothal had never been official, and with the wealthier branch of the Black family out of favour, evidently the Malfoy heir could do better than a third daughter of a second son. Regulus's expression was cool and composed as he swallowed down bile at the thought. Because of course it was true.
Regulus was a Black on both sides, had the potential to inherit a considerable fortune, even among the richest and oldest lines of purebloods. When stated so baldly, of course he was a better choice than his cousin's paltry dowry and whatever remained of her parents' estate split three ways upon their deaths. Due to the Malfoys' standing, Abraxas Malfoy could get away with marrying his heir to someone who'd been essentially blacklisted, and a marriage to Lucius Malfoy could only help Regulus improve his reputation. With any luck, he would be a death eater before he returned to Hogwarts for the start of second term.
He glanced at the arbitrator, seated at the head of the table between the two families, and then mentally measured the length of the scroll the man was reading from. When he returned his focus to the Malfoys, Regulus's dismay must have shown on his face-Bole was barely halfway through the document-because Lucius was smirking at him. Not widely enough to be openly disrespectful, but it was there. The expression struck him as a little odd.
Arranged marriages were a fact of life. Between two men they weren't completely unheard of, though they were rare in recent history and even in the past had only been in common practice by the oldest and purest bloodlines. He had been aware of the possibility of two men marrying, but he had never expected to marry a man himself-the Notts had several lovely daughters, all of whom had previously been quite fond of him. Just the same, he didn't find the prospect of marrying Lucius Malfoy abhorrent, per se, but he also couldn't find any amusement in his situation and it rankled that apparently Lucius did. Some small and probably irrational part of him had expected to see in the man some evidence of regret that he would not be marrying Regulus's attractive cousin.
His mother's cold, sharp voice sliced through Regulus's thoughts as easily as it silenced the arbitrator. "I think we can agree that a long betrothal is unnecessary." Regulus couldn't recall what in the contract triggered this segue, but it appeared his mother, at the very least, had learned from one mistake she'd made with Sirius. Glancing across the table, it looked to him like, even if Abraxas Malfoy didn't actually disagree with his mother's statement, the man wanted to on principle-the man's fingers had clenched around the neck of his walking stick, an antique topped with a silver snake's head. The reaction was a common one when Walburga Black opened her mouth, but the woman barreled on, either heedless of the man's tension or, more likely, simply ignoring it. "Regulus may still have a year and a half of schooling to complete, but that is hardly the only factor to consider. And he might actually prove useful at Hogwarts." She smiled faintly, and Regulus knew she was looking at Lucius rather than the elder Malfoy. "I've heard rumours that young Rabastan Lestrange is reluctant to take the dark lord's mark before he finishes at Hogwarts, just like the rest of my son's friends. It would seem to me that it would be better to have a death eater well positioned and not need him than the other way around. Not," she added as an afterthought, "that I can presume to know the dark lord's thoughts, of course."
"Of course," Lucius agreed with the slightest bow of his head. In that moment, Regulus was so jealous of the man for already being a death eater, for not even glancing at his father for permission to speak, that he thought he might vomit. "When would you suggest, then?"
"I want the ritual completed before the start of term," Walburga replied firmly. She was still smiling, but somehow the expression had grown teeth though her lips were pressed together. Regulus found himself trapped between amusement and nausea; his mother looked as if she smelled blood. He knew he was lucky to have her, but sometimes it didn't feel so much like luck. "I don't particularly like the idea of Regulus attending classes pregnant," no, there was nothing at all pleasing here-he'd been expecting a variation of this conversation and the words still made his stomach bottom out, "but some things are necessary, and this way the timing will be such that the boys will be born before the start of his final year."
Regulus felt his cheeks heat, the weak smile melting from his lips. And Lucius grinned, albeit briefly. It made his stomach lurch a second time although he hadn't identified any malice in the man's expression. Smug bastard.
Since two men could not conceive naturally, when they married it was via an elaborate ritual that would result in one of them becoming pregnant. That man was called the object of the ritual, and that fate was Regulus's, since the Malfoys had had the upper hand throughout the negotiations. If there was even the dimmest of silver linings to this particular aspect of Regulus's situation, he supposed it was the fact that the marriage ritual for two men had been perfected, through centuries of trial and error. Regulus was guaranteed twin boys from the consummation of his marriage to Lucius. They would each have an heir to continue their lines. It was very important to each of them, being sole heirs of their families, and Regulus in particular the only male child of his generation. He was grateful at least that he didn't run the risk of bearing a daughter only to be forced to endure this humiliating process more than once. He pictured Sirius in the corner of the room, rolling on the floor with helpless laughter at his little brother's predicament. Tears rolling down his face, gleaming white teeth. Regulus scowled and banished the image; he'd see the real thing soon enough since he'd be pregnant and showing before second term ended for summer hols.
And his mother wasn't even finished. She continued speaking as though oblivious to her son's discomfort, though Regulus was certain she'd noticed the ugly blush that had briefly stained his cheeks. "It is non-negotiable that Regulus be offered to the dark lord once you are married, Lucius. After the marriage, but before he returns to school, so the ritual will have to be scheduled accordingly." Her voice was abrasive, as if she were expecting an argument. It was nearly the tone she'd always reserved for Sirius, but the Malfoys didn't flush with anger or shame like his older brother would have. "It is your responsibility to ensure he receives that introduction, just as it is my son's responsibility to get himself marked. I realize that his initiation is at the dark lord's discretion, and if Regulus fails to prove his worth in Lord Voldemort's eyes, it will not qualify as a breach of contract on your end."
Regulus didn't wince at her words nor at the forbidding tone in which they'd been delivered, but it was a close thing. His mother had already suffered grave disappointment in the shape of her firstborn. He could justify her increased severity, her relentless demands, even if deep down he couldn't understand why they should extend to him. He had always been obedient, eager to please his parents. Regulus wondered if perhaps she worried that Sirius had managed to corrupt him, like everyone else seemed to. He thought she ought to know him better than that.
Abraxas Malfoy waved a hand in either impatience or distaste, maybe both, Regulus supposed. "Yes, yes, I considered those things implicit to the agreement, but I am certain Mr. Bole can include the details right now, without too much effort, so we can finally have this business taken care of."
The arbitrator nodded his agreement, tapping the contract with his wand to make room for the stipulations. Then he set quill to parchment, scratching down the new terms, which may or may not have previously been implicit-now they would be legally binding.
Regulus watched with growing nausea as his future was written out by a near stranger. His chest was a dense, painful knot, and he clutched futilely at his collar knowing he didn't dare loosen even the top button in front of either the Malfoys or his own parents-it wouldn't be proper behaviour for a dining room. Now, he didn't even look at Lucius, as afraid of what his own face might betray as he was to see any thoughts reflected in the man's expression. He needed to keep reminding himself this was a means to an end. In his life, there had been few choices his parents hadn't made for him. But this contract was so much bigger than anything else they'd chosen for him. He trusted their judgment, but the idea of being a parent, especially so much sooner than he'd ever expected, was terrifying.
He supposed he did have a choice here. He could either follow his brother's path: misguided, misanthropic, and selfish. Or, he could bide his time, until the choices were his to make. And even before he'd followed that train of thought to the endless possibilities it could provide, Regulus knew that, ultimately, he would do as he was told, as he always had, resenting Sirius-but never his parents-all the way.
One break for tea and two hours later, both parties were satisfied enough with the contract to put quill to parchment. Six signatures, Regulus's included though it looked a little like an afterthought, situated below his parents'. Then, Abraxas Malfoy suggested they retire to his drawing room for drinks, but not before giving his son a long, hard look that Regulus was delighted to see made Lucius sigh in a way that could only convey displeasure. However, in the next minute, Regulus had Lucius's undivided attention, and he forced himself to express polite interest when the man smiled and raised an eyebrow at him.
"Regulus, would you care to take a tour of the grounds with me? The gardens are under a climostasis charm for winter so they can be enjoyed year-round, and we have a lovely maze in the back."
Regulus wondered if he was expected to believe that this Lucius-a man who cared about plants and gardens, apparently-actually existed. His parents spoke softly to one another behind his chair, his father's low rumble particularly soothing. But even without glancing at them he knew what his answer had to be-there was no refusal that would have been polite enough, and Regulus had learned from his brother's misbehaviour. He nodded tersely, rising when Lucius did. The man's fingers light on his shoulder steered him out of the dining room and down the corridor.
They slipped into a room that was fairly unremarkable, except for the French doors that opened on the back gardens. Once they were outdoors, however, Lucius used the grip on Regulus's shoulder to turn him bodily, so they faced one another. "I am not going to lead you on a guided tour," he stated without preamble, "because I suspect you don't really care to look at rose bushes or topiary."
"Then what are we doing out here?" Regulus shrugged out from under Lucius's hand and defiantly struck out towards what looked to be the entrance to the hedge maze, forcing Lucius to follow him. It was true he didn't have any particular interest in flowers and the like, but he'd been dragged out here, so there was no reason not to make the most of it, and see if he couldn't make-his stomach lurched-his fiancé miserable, at least a little bit, by trudging through the maze.
"Would you rather be inside with our parents, choking on formality, being seen but not heard? They will drink, and your mother will argue with my father about the details of the reception, and your mother will probably have her way in the end." Lucius caught up to walk beside him, and Regulus's eyes narrowed as he glanced sideways to the man's face. It wasn't really an answer, and anyway he had no reason to believe Lucius cared at all where he preferred to be. "Oh, very well," Lucius snorted. "My father asked me to ensure that you understand what the ritual entails. It would be…unseemly if you were to panic and try to fight me."
Regulus's lip curled. "I am not going to panic. I've never seen it done before, but I did research, after my parents told me what they had planned. I know the process," he sniffed.
And then a flush crept up Regulus's neck to flood his face when Lucius began to laugh. "You've researched the process, have you? In books, I suppose? Give a lot of details, your books?" It was worse than when Sirius would laugh at him for saying something that ended up being foolish. Sirius, he could insult with impunity, and even if his brother gave better than he got, quite frankly it didn't really have to matter what the black sheep of the family thought of him. Unfortunately, his fiancé's thoughts and opinions did matter, even if Regulus didn't want them to.
"Look," he sighed, his tone very nearly civil. "I know the basics, okay? I know I have to drink hysterigenesis potion beforehand, and since it's a type of polyjuice potion it'll probably take a week or two to cook up a batch for the ritual." He paused, unbuttoning the collar of his robes and giving it a tug as if that might alleviate some of his discomfort. "The potion alters internal anatomy only, and with just that single dose, I'll stay altered until the twins are born.
"The ritual itself involves a series of incantations. It's communal magic, heavy stuff. My parents will probably insist upon having at least a dozen witches and wizards to cast, even though six would be adequate." Regulus cleared his throat and tried for nonchalance. "And then lastly, there's the consummation." He met Lucius's eyes, but only after he told himself he absolutely was not looking for approval.
"The incantation and consummation are simultaneous," Lucius corrected, fairly leering. "The incantation-which is communal blood magic, by the way-is what guarantees the conception of twin boys, as well as making it possible for a man to get pregnant in the first place. The potion-which merely takes a few days to brew, actually-only gives you a place to put them." The maze opened out to a small clearing that branched into several paths, but before Regulus could choose any of them, Lucius's hand was on his shoulder, the tips of the man's fingers cool as they brushed beneath his loosened collar. "The point I am trying to make is that you can read every book on the subject, know the incantations inside out, and still be unprepared for the unique experience of having sex in front of an audience." He could feel the heat of Lucius's body at his back through his robes and wondered if the proximity was meant to be threatening. "Are you going to panic on me, Regulus?"
"I wouldn't dream of tarnishing your reputation or mine," Regulus replied quietly, sarcasm and sincerity warring in his voice. He rolled his shoulder beneath Lucius's fingers, a polite request to release him that the man did not avail himself of. "I am not my brother, to act without regard for the consequences."
"That's admirable," Lucius drawled, his cheek light against Regulus's temple. "But have you ever had sex with a man? Books will tell you how it can hurt if your partner doesn't know what he's doing, or if you can't bring yourself to relax, but they cannot prepare you for the way that pain will feel. Do you suppose you will be able to relax for your first time if you have a dozen people watching?"
Put that way, Regulus was quite certain he wouldn’t be able to relax no matter if it was his first time or twentieth. He turned his head, looking back at Lucius from far too close. "What are you suggesting?" he asked dryly, and he was rewarded with blunt little half-moons dug lightly into his collarbone by Lucius's fingernails.
"I am suggesting that, for the sake of appearances, it would look better if you didn't have to be tied down for the ritual. If I were certain you knew what you were getting into and that you could be trusted not to react poorly, then I don't think that such extremes would be necessary." Lucius's voice should have been classified as a weapon. Low, smooth, and unaccountably soothing, but Regulus knew better than to let himself be lulled. He knew he didn't have the power in this situation, but that didn't mean he was going to let the man have it easy.
"What are you suggesting?" he insisted softly, and though his mastery of his voice was no match for that of Lucius, it came out nearly a purr and didn't shake.
"I want to fuck you," Lucius hissed. "Right now." The words were a bolt of heat straight to Regulus's cock, and though he wasn't particularly interested in sex with a near stranger in a lukewarm garden, his body was predictably traitorous and reacted with enthusiasm. The man's arms slipped around him from behind to unfasten several more buttons at the front of his robes until they could be lifted off over his head. They were the thick sort of robes that didn't require any additional layers underneath, and Regulus shivered with gooseflesh as he stood there only in pants, the warmth at his back doing nothing but reminding the rest of him how cool the air was.
The climostasis charm only prevented the garden from dying; the temperature couldn't have been much above freezing. Regulus wrapped his arms around himself but didn't turn to face Lucius. "Why here?" he muttered. "Is there something wrong with your bedroom?"
Fingers ghosted across the tops of his shoulders, down each arm. His hair stood on end, a quiver racing up and down his spine that could only partially be blamed upon the temperature. Lucius murmured a localized heating charm and made the Latin sound like a smirk. "Technically, there is nothing wrong with my bedroom." Regulus couldn't imagine how he'd thought Lucius's hands were cold before, because now the man's smooth palms seemed to sear their way down his hips and thighs, stripping him of his pants. "My father wants to pretend he doesn't know we're doing this," Lucius whispered conspiratorially, "even though it was his suggestion."
While the information was not exactly surprising, Regulus found he didn't really like the idea of Abraxas Malfoy thinking about his sex life, even if that had been a large part of the earlier marriage negotiations. He wondered if his own parents had been involved in the decision, and the fact that they probably had-his mother, at the very least-dissolved most of the meager enthusiasm he'd managed to dredge up, his arousal drooping in the face of parental meddling.
"Oh, now, we can't have that…" Lucius was almost a head taller than Regulus, the man crouching a little as he rested his chin on Regulus's shoulder, gazing down his body. Lucius's fingers wrapped around his half-full cock, sliding up and down the soft, delicate skin. Those hands, devoid of the callus Regulus had spent a childhood of broomhandling to develop, could have belonged to a woman. For a long, futile moment, he debated pretending that it was a woman who was working him up, maybe the youngest Nott girl; she played the piano and her touch might be as strong and confident as this felt. There was no point though, because this was not a woman, and there would definitely be no fooling himself later on. He focused instead upon the sensation itself, the fact that it was not the roughened pads of his own fingers teasing the large vein along the underside of his cock, slicking his slit with precome. When he wanked, it was quick and furtive, vicious in his need for a release; this was so different, languid and vaguely teasing, that the sheer novelty of another person pleasuring him sent a jolt of heat low in his abdomen, curling and teasing like a restless animal.
It had been only a few days since the last time he'd relieved himself. Too long, apparently. He leaned heavily against Lucius's chest and came fast and hard before he'd even realized he was so close. There hadn't been enough build-up to make him sweaty or shaky and although he was pressed against Lucius, his stance was firm and steady. This close, Regulus could make out the man's scent: clean, sharp, and slightly musky. He thought he liked it, though it might have been the tide of endorphins washing through his body, and he tried not to be obvious as he breathed it in. It was harder to remember you weren't sure how you felt about someone when they'd just given you an orgasm.
"Now that you've been taken care of," Lucius murmured somewhere at the vicinity of his temple, "I can focus upon teaching you thoroughly." It might have been Regulus's imagination, but Lucius's voice seemed rougher than it had previously, like the man had swallowed a double shot of gin straight up, no chaser. "Lie down, face up," Lucius instructed him, and apparently the handjob had done what it had been intended for, because it was with very little anxiety indeed that Regulus obeyed the command.
Lucius wore trousers beneath his robes, and probably a shirt too, though Regulus didn't get to see it. The man took off only what he needed to, shoes and trousers in an untidy pile on top of Regulus's clothing. It was with some vague alarm that Regulus dug his elbows into the chill grass to watch Lucius part his thighs to kneel between them, robes bunched up around his hips to reveal an erection that, while it was not exceptionally large, was nonetheless intimidating. Regulus felt himself clench involuntarily.
"This first part is something you are going to have to do for yourself before the ritual," Lucius murmured. He conjured a bottle of dark blue, nearly opaque glass and then set his wand aside. "It is not sex for pleasure, but for a purpose, and I think you'll want to take care of as much of it as you can in private, anyway." Though Lucius's voice was still somewhat hoarse, there was no real sympathy in the tone, a good reminder to Regulus that the man didn't really care about his comfort. He thought he was probably leaning towards "dislike" for his assessment of his fiancé. But Lucius lubricating his fingers with the slick, oily substance from the bottle was distracting, so Regulus decided to put off his final decision.
When he felt the first intruding finger, not at all tentative, Regulus almost choked on a gasp, expelling a nervous little laugh that cracked though his voice hadn't for almost a year now. "This won't do," he heard Lucius mutter under his breath, and suddenly, though there was still a hand between Regulus's thighs, the man had managed to sink down and press very close, free hand carding lightly through Regulus's hair and massaging his scalp. It wasn't really affection, but it was relaxing, and when Lucius began thrusting his finger, pushing gradually deeper inside Regulus, the muscles didn't tense up again.
The sensation wasn't unpleasant, even after a second finger joined the first. Lucius clearly knew what he was doing and Regulus wondered how experienced the man was and whether he might not have been glad he wasn't marrying a woman.
Regulus had fixed his eyes on a point at the top of the hedge to keep himself from looking at Lucius while this was done, but the third finger was awkward and uncomfortable, negating the vague stirrings of pleasure he'd begun to feel. He gritted his teeth and dropped his gaze to glare into the man's dancing grey eyes, and received a wry smirk for his trouble. "Don't look at me like that," Lucius snorted. "Discomfort now is better than blood later." Regulus swallowed thickly and nodded in agreement, because the man didn't need to know how that image had bottomed out his stomach.
Somewhere down the line, the discomfort slowly ebbed. The muscle loosened, warm and liquid with Lucius's expert ministrations and the light friction of his knuckles driving rhythmic and deep. Regulus found he was no longer worried about Lucius fucking him-nothing the man had done was painful. It was difficult to be worried when you were starting to get hard again, every twist and wiggle of the digits within him sending a shiver up his spine. And though Lucius had taken his time with the preparation, opening Regulus up slowly and thoroughly, somehow the man was still aroused as well, his cock a florid purple that must have ached, and arched taut against his stomach.
Then Lucius did something-his fingers sank deep and stroked. In less than the span of a heartbeat, Regulus's concentration came undone, a low groan torn from his throat. Every thought save one had fractured. "Again," he hissed in a raw, needy voice he didn't recognize as his own. But instead the fingers were withdrawn from his body, and he'd never felt so empty, his nerve endings crying out for sensation that didn't come. "Lucius," he groaned, drawing out the sibilance-it wasn't a name, but a plea. Regulus palmed his cock, grown thick and heavy again, still sticky from before. He watched as Lucius stroked himself too, the man's length glistening with more of the lubricant from the blue bottle.
Regulus knew what came next, could read it in his fiancé's smouldering gaze, the frenetic bob of his Adam's apple, the fingerprints that would likely bruise onto his hips where Lucius gripped them to drag his body closer, thighs draped wantonly over the man's lap. There was no room left for nervousness or even the memory that he'd ever had reason to be anxious. He squirmed further into Lucius's lap, closer to the man's body, and was rewarded with a low groan and the thrust of Lucius's hips, cock sliding between his cheeks. "Do it," Regulus gritted, choking on his own breath.
Lucius had plied him so slowly, brought him so very close to completion that any lingering discomfort when he was finally penetrated was completely overwhelmed by the pleasure of being filled, in a way that mere fingers had not satisfied. Some small part of Regulus's lizard brain whispered that, if only for this, he should be glad he wasn't being married off to a girl.
Their bodies flowed together like the push and pull of ocean waves, Regulus riding the power of Lucius's thrusts. The man was no longer patient and controlled, and Regulus no longer needed him to be. He cried out mindless, broken pleas for mercy as his hand stuttered along his own cock, as Lucius reached every inch of him, deep within, surging relentlessly.
Regulus's orgasm struck hard, a low, breathless, and thready moan ripped from his throat. His fingers twitched reflexively as he spurted once, twice, three times and then he milked himself dry, trickling hot down his wrist. And still Lucius pounded into him, grunting harshly.
The man's hair was in disarray, his robes plastered to his arms and torso by sweat. His eyes were shut tight now, and his lower lip was white where it had been trapped between his teeth. Lucius was close, too. Regulus stared up at him in a blissed-out haze and thought the man looked glorious. If he looked like that forever, and maybe never spoke again, Regulus thought they could have a happy marriage.
Both of them groaned when Lucius came, the man bowing his back, every muscle rigid as he jerked his hips arrhythmically. Regulus thought he could melt into the grass beneath him; the heat that seared his already hypersensitive nerves left him feeling shattered, exhausted, and barely connected to his much more solid surroundings. He reached up, resting his hands lightly on Lucius's hot, damp shoulders, then closed his eyes and let his body bask.
He must have fallen asleep briefly, because he was jolted back to consciousness when Lucius pulled his softening cock from Regulus's well-used hole. The man stood and nudged his hip with a foot. "Clean and dress yourself. This took longer than I wanted it to." Regulus felt chilled despite the lingering warming charm. He watched Lucius scourgify his skin, dry his robes, put on his trousers, socks, and shoes, all without moving from his place on the grass. And then when the man fixed narrowed, expectant eyes upon him, he glared right back.
"You may have the better position, the better standing," Regulus muttered as he gingerly rose to his feet, a little surprised he was sore in places he hadn't realized there were muscles, in addition to that most obvious place. "But I am marrying you, not hiring on as your servant. Treating me dismissively is not something I think you want to do." He was naked but he forced himself to lock eyes with Lucius, stand his ground. It was difficult not to fidget. Especially when the man folded his arms and arched an eyebrow, a move he knew was calculated to make him squirm.
Finally, Lucius rolled his eyes, breaking a tension that Regulus hadn't quite noticed until it dissipated. "Despite your naïveté," he murmured, so quietly Regulus couldn't be sure the man wasn't just talking to himself, "I think this may work out well for both of us." Then, louder: "You've made your point. Can we be getting back now, before my father sends a house elf to search for us?" Unexpectedly, Lucius grinned. "Or would you prefer that? I can summon one if His Highness needs help dressing. Wouldn't want to treat the little king like a servant."
And though he knew he had made his point, that-dare he even hope it-Lucius might even respect him a little for it, in the span of a few words Regulus was reduced back to an awkward sixteen-year-old, scrambling for his wand and robes, cheeks flaming. In all his life, he'd never made himself presentable so quickly.
Next Part
Author: Skellywag
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Lucius/Regulus
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Alternate timeline. Regulus's life is not progressing as he had expected, and an arranged marriage to Lucius Malfoy is only the beginning.
Warnings: Unapologetically long, underage? sex (Regulus is 16 to Lucius's 23), dubcon, creative use of made-up magic, public sex, mPreg, bloodplay-after a fashion, gore, torture, violence directed towards both children and adults.
A/N: Written for hp-yule-balls. First and foremost, my everlasting gratitude to my lovely beta fitz-y, who has been a wealth of support, advice, and cheerleading. This wouldn’t be half the fic it is without her, and I don't mean in terms of word count. Also a big thank-you to jaylee-g for the info about pregnancy, who helped me (I hope) make this a much more realistic mPreg than it would otherwise be. All remaining mistakes are mine alone. Thanks also to the wonderful mods at hp-yule-balls and their patience; this monster took a little longer than I'd expected to get written, and I hope it's worth the extra time it took me.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
The arbitrator was a youngish man called Mr. Bole, and Regulus was impressed by the way he could make his voice drone like someone twice his age. Mr. Bole was reading out the newest version of the contract, the sixth and hopefully the last, and though this incarnation had only a few differences from the previous one, it was being read in its entirety.
This contract affected Regulus's life. It mapped out his future for him, and the boy knew he should have been listening; however, all Regulus could think about was the look Sirius would pull when he found out. How he would laugh! Sirius had avoided this fate himself half a hundred ways by the age of twelve, and running away and getting himself disowned had only been the culmination of his hard work. Regulus obeyed his parents without reluctance or resentment and relished being a source of pride to them; it was only the echo of his brother's laughter inside his head that made this process uncomfortable.
Before he was twelve, Sirius had been betrothed three times. Each had been broken by the parents of the intended after a truly horrifying display of misbehaviour. In the last instance, Sirius had told the parents of the Bulstrode girl that he would rather join the muggle circus and marry the lamia who masqueraded as a snake lady than marry their troll-faced daughter. After that, there had been no more marriage offers for Sirius, and though Regulus had always been polite when introduced to prospective mates, his parents had been rather more careful not to make any agreements for their second son.
That grace period had expired. Regulus sat between his parents and strove to focus upon a contract that detailed the conditions of his impending marriage. It shouldn't have been difficult; he didn't even have to participate in the negotiations. He was required only to sit still and speak when spoken to, and perhaps sign the contract once it was fully agreed upon, though it was his parents' signatures that were truly important. Sixteen-year-olds didn't have the right to sign their own contracts, so this was only to be expected.
Regulus told himself he was having a hard time paying attention because Mr. Bole had a voice that could make a quidditch match sound positively dull, and that was certainly part of the reason. But really, he didn't need an arbitrator to tell him for a sixth time that his bargaining position was so weak. The Blacks had made far more concessions than they had attained. His family possessed great material and monetary wealth, but the sum of Sirius's behaviour, the fact that he had associated freely with mudbloods and muggle-sympathizers for years before ultimately being disowned; this had all combined to severely hurt their reputation and social standing. Privately, Regulus thought it was as much his parents' fault for allowing Sirius's delinquency to continue as it was his brother's, but he knew better than to say so. And anyway, laying blame could do nothing for him now.
The effect upon his marriage prospects hadn't bothered him, though he knew it would have eventually become an issue if he couldn't find someone willing to marry him. However, status and position affected more than just his list of potential mates. A year ago, Regulus might easily have joined Lord Voldemort's ranks of death eaters on his own merit; now, he was a potential blood traitor, synonymous with his brother through no fault of his own. He could not be trusted without a death eater to vouch for him, and be held accountable for any mistakes he made. Even his own cousin Bellatrix had been unwilling to take this minor risk for him.
Purebloods were flocking to join Voldemort; the man could afford to pick and choose. The dark lord was smart and cautious, and despite the inconvenience it placed upon him, Regulus found he admired this reticence. It was Sirius he resented. Sirius, who preferred mudbloods and blood traitors to his own family. Sirius, with whom he would forever be connected, guilt by association. Regulus stared across the table, careful with his expression as Mr. Bole monotoned. If all went well, perhaps he could wipe his slate clean of familial disgrace.
Lucius Malfoy and his father sat on the opposite side of the table. This man was seven years his senior, who Regulus had thought all but married to his cousin, Narcissa. But apparently the betrothal had never been official, and with the wealthier branch of the Black family out of favour, evidently the Malfoy heir could do better than a third daughter of a second son. Regulus's expression was cool and composed as he swallowed down bile at the thought. Because of course it was true.
Regulus was a Black on both sides, had the potential to inherit a considerable fortune, even among the richest and oldest lines of purebloods. When stated so baldly, of course he was a better choice than his cousin's paltry dowry and whatever remained of her parents' estate split three ways upon their deaths. Due to the Malfoys' standing, Abraxas Malfoy could get away with marrying his heir to someone who'd been essentially blacklisted, and a marriage to Lucius Malfoy could only help Regulus improve his reputation. With any luck, he would be a death eater before he returned to Hogwarts for the start of second term.
He glanced at the arbitrator, seated at the head of the table between the two families, and then mentally measured the length of the scroll the man was reading from. When he returned his focus to the Malfoys, Regulus's dismay must have shown on his face-Bole was barely halfway through the document-because Lucius was smirking at him. Not widely enough to be openly disrespectful, but it was there. The expression struck him as a little odd.
Arranged marriages were a fact of life. Between two men they weren't completely unheard of, though they were rare in recent history and even in the past had only been in common practice by the oldest and purest bloodlines. He had been aware of the possibility of two men marrying, but he had never expected to marry a man himself-the Notts had several lovely daughters, all of whom had previously been quite fond of him. Just the same, he didn't find the prospect of marrying Lucius Malfoy abhorrent, per se, but he also couldn't find any amusement in his situation and it rankled that apparently Lucius did. Some small and probably irrational part of him had expected to see in the man some evidence of regret that he would not be marrying Regulus's attractive cousin.
His mother's cold, sharp voice sliced through Regulus's thoughts as easily as it silenced the arbitrator. "I think we can agree that a long betrothal is unnecessary." Regulus couldn't recall what in the contract triggered this segue, but it appeared his mother, at the very least, had learned from one mistake she'd made with Sirius. Glancing across the table, it looked to him like, even if Abraxas Malfoy didn't actually disagree with his mother's statement, the man wanted to on principle-the man's fingers had clenched around the neck of his walking stick, an antique topped with a silver snake's head. The reaction was a common one when Walburga Black opened her mouth, but the woman barreled on, either heedless of the man's tension or, more likely, simply ignoring it. "Regulus may still have a year and a half of schooling to complete, but that is hardly the only factor to consider. And he might actually prove useful at Hogwarts." She smiled faintly, and Regulus knew she was looking at Lucius rather than the elder Malfoy. "I've heard rumours that young Rabastan Lestrange is reluctant to take the dark lord's mark before he finishes at Hogwarts, just like the rest of my son's friends. It would seem to me that it would be better to have a death eater well positioned and not need him than the other way around. Not," she added as an afterthought, "that I can presume to know the dark lord's thoughts, of course."
"Of course," Lucius agreed with the slightest bow of his head. In that moment, Regulus was so jealous of the man for already being a death eater, for not even glancing at his father for permission to speak, that he thought he might vomit. "When would you suggest, then?"
"I want the ritual completed before the start of term," Walburga replied firmly. She was still smiling, but somehow the expression had grown teeth though her lips were pressed together. Regulus found himself trapped between amusement and nausea; his mother looked as if she smelled blood. He knew he was lucky to have her, but sometimes it didn't feel so much like luck. "I don't particularly like the idea of Regulus attending classes pregnant," no, there was nothing at all pleasing here-he'd been expecting a variation of this conversation and the words still made his stomach bottom out, "but some things are necessary, and this way the timing will be such that the boys will be born before the start of his final year."
Regulus felt his cheeks heat, the weak smile melting from his lips. And Lucius grinned, albeit briefly. It made his stomach lurch a second time although he hadn't identified any malice in the man's expression. Smug bastard.
Since two men could not conceive naturally, when they married it was via an elaborate ritual that would result in one of them becoming pregnant. That man was called the object of the ritual, and that fate was Regulus's, since the Malfoys had had the upper hand throughout the negotiations. If there was even the dimmest of silver linings to this particular aspect of Regulus's situation, he supposed it was the fact that the marriage ritual for two men had been perfected, through centuries of trial and error. Regulus was guaranteed twin boys from the consummation of his marriage to Lucius. They would each have an heir to continue their lines. It was very important to each of them, being sole heirs of their families, and Regulus in particular the only male child of his generation. He was grateful at least that he didn't run the risk of bearing a daughter only to be forced to endure this humiliating process more than once. He pictured Sirius in the corner of the room, rolling on the floor with helpless laughter at his little brother's predicament. Tears rolling down his face, gleaming white teeth. Regulus scowled and banished the image; he'd see the real thing soon enough since he'd be pregnant and showing before second term ended for summer hols.
And his mother wasn't even finished. She continued speaking as though oblivious to her son's discomfort, though Regulus was certain she'd noticed the ugly blush that had briefly stained his cheeks. "It is non-negotiable that Regulus be offered to the dark lord once you are married, Lucius. After the marriage, but before he returns to school, so the ritual will have to be scheduled accordingly." Her voice was abrasive, as if she were expecting an argument. It was nearly the tone she'd always reserved for Sirius, but the Malfoys didn't flush with anger or shame like his older brother would have. "It is your responsibility to ensure he receives that introduction, just as it is my son's responsibility to get himself marked. I realize that his initiation is at the dark lord's discretion, and if Regulus fails to prove his worth in Lord Voldemort's eyes, it will not qualify as a breach of contract on your end."
Regulus didn't wince at her words nor at the forbidding tone in which they'd been delivered, but it was a close thing. His mother had already suffered grave disappointment in the shape of her firstborn. He could justify her increased severity, her relentless demands, even if deep down he couldn't understand why they should extend to him. He had always been obedient, eager to please his parents. Regulus wondered if perhaps she worried that Sirius had managed to corrupt him, like everyone else seemed to. He thought she ought to know him better than that.
Abraxas Malfoy waved a hand in either impatience or distaste, maybe both, Regulus supposed. "Yes, yes, I considered those things implicit to the agreement, but I am certain Mr. Bole can include the details right now, without too much effort, so we can finally have this business taken care of."
The arbitrator nodded his agreement, tapping the contract with his wand to make room for the stipulations. Then he set quill to parchment, scratching down the new terms, which may or may not have previously been implicit-now they would be legally binding.
Regulus watched with growing nausea as his future was written out by a near stranger. His chest was a dense, painful knot, and he clutched futilely at his collar knowing he didn't dare loosen even the top button in front of either the Malfoys or his own parents-it wouldn't be proper behaviour for a dining room. Now, he didn't even look at Lucius, as afraid of what his own face might betray as he was to see any thoughts reflected in the man's expression. He needed to keep reminding himself this was a means to an end. In his life, there had been few choices his parents hadn't made for him. But this contract was so much bigger than anything else they'd chosen for him. He trusted their judgment, but the idea of being a parent, especially so much sooner than he'd ever expected, was terrifying.
He supposed he did have a choice here. He could either follow his brother's path: misguided, misanthropic, and selfish. Or, he could bide his time, until the choices were his to make. And even before he'd followed that train of thought to the endless possibilities it could provide, Regulus knew that, ultimately, he would do as he was told, as he always had, resenting Sirius-but never his parents-all the way.
One break for tea and two hours later, both parties were satisfied enough with the contract to put quill to parchment. Six signatures, Regulus's included though it looked a little like an afterthought, situated below his parents'. Then, Abraxas Malfoy suggested they retire to his drawing room for drinks, but not before giving his son a long, hard look that Regulus was delighted to see made Lucius sigh in a way that could only convey displeasure. However, in the next minute, Regulus had Lucius's undivided attention, and he forced himself to express polite interest when the man smiled and raised an eyebrow at him.
"Regulus, would you care to take a tour of the grounds with me? The gardens are under a climostasis charm for winter so they can be enjoyed year-round, and we have a lovely maze in the back."
Regulus wondered if he was expected to believe that this Lucius-a man who cared about plants and gardens, apparently-actually existed. His parents spoke softly to one another behind his chair, his father's low rumble particularly soothing. But even without glancing at them he knew what his answer had to be-there was no refusal that would have been polite enough, and Regulus had learned from his brother's misbehaviour. He nodded tersely, rising when Lucius did. The man's fingers light on his shoulder steered him out of the dining room and down the corridor.
They slipped into a room that was fairly unremarkable, except for the French doors that opened on the back gardens. Once they were outdoors, however, Lucius used the grip on Regulus's shoulder to turn him bodily, so they faced one another. "I am not going to lead you on a guided tour," he stated without preamble, "because I suspect you don't really care to look at rose bushes or topiary."
"Then what are we doing out here?" Regulus shrugged out from under Lucius's hand and defiantly struck out towards what looked to be the entrance to the hedge maze, forcing Lucius to follow him. It was true he didn't have any particular interest in flowers and the like, but he'd been dragged out here, so there was no reason not to make the most of it, and see if he couldn't make-his stomach lurched-his fiancé miserable, at least a little bit, by trudging through the maze.
"Would you rather be inside with our parents, choking on formality, being seen but not heard? They will drink, and your mother will argue with my father about the details of the reception, and your mother will probably have her way in the end." Lucius caught up to walk beside him, and Regulus's eyes narrowed as he glanced sideways to the man's face. It wasn't really an answer, and anyway he had no reason to believe Lucius cared at all where he preferred to be. "Oh, very well," Lucius snorted. "My father asked me to ensure that you understand what the ritual entails. It would be…unseemly if you were to panic and try to fight me."
Regulus's lip curled. "I am not going to panic. I've never seen it done before, but I did research, after my parents told me what they had planned. I know the process," he sniffed.
And then a flush crept up Regulus's neck to flood his face when Lucius began to laugh. "You've researched the process, have you? In books, I suppose? Give a lot of details, your books?" It was worse than when Sirius would laugh at him for saying something that ended up being foolish. Sirius, he could insult with impunity, and even if his brother gave better than he got, quite frankly it didn't really have to matter what the black sheep of the family thought of him. Unfortunately, his fiancé's thoughts and opinions did matter, even if Regulus didn't want them to.
"Look," he sighed, his tone very nearly civil. "I know the basics, okay? I know I have to drink hysterigenesis potion beforehand, and since it's a type of polyjuice potion it'll probably take a week or two to cook up a batch for the ritual." He paused, unbuttoning the collar of his robes and giving it a tug as if that might alleviate some of his discomfort. "The potion alters internal anatomy only, and with just that single dose, I'll stay altered until the twins are born.
"The ritual itself involves a series of incantations. It's communal magic, heavy stuff. My parents will probably insist upon having at least a dozen witches and wizards to cast, even though six would be adequate." Regulus cleared his throat and tried for nonchalance. "And then lastly, there's the consummation." He met Lucius's eyes, but only after he told himself he absolutely was not looking for approval.
"The incantation and consummation are simultaneous," Lucius corrected, fairly leering. "The incantation-which is communal blood magic, by the way-is what guarantees the conception of twin boys, as well as making it possible for a man to get pregnant in the first place. The potion-which merely takes a few days to brew, actually-only gives you a place to put them." The maze opened out to a small clearing that branched into several paths, but before Regulus could choose any of them, Lucius's hand was on his shoulder, the tips of the man's fingers cool as they brushed beneath his loosened collar. "The point I am trying to make is that you can read every book on the subject, know the incantations inside out, and still be unprepared for the unique experience of having sex in front of an audience." He could feel the heat of Lucius's body at his back through his robes and wondered if the proximity was meant to be threatening. "Are you going to panic on me, Regulus?"
"I wouldn't dream of tarnishing your reputation or mine," Regulus replied quietly, sarcasm and sincerity warring in his voice. He rolled his shoulder beneath Lucius's fingers, a polite request to release him that the man did not avail himself of. "I am not my brother, to act without regard for the consequences."
"That's admirable," Lucius drawled, his cheek light against Regulus's temple. "But have you ever had sex with a man? Books will tell you how it can hurt if your partner doesn't know what he's doing, or if you can't bring yourself to relax, but they cannot prepare you for the way that pain will feel. Do you suppose you will be able to relax for your first time if you have a dozen people watching?"
Put that way, Regulus was quite certain he wouldn’t be able to relax no matter if it was his first time or twentieth. He turned his head, looking back at Lucius from far too close. "What are you suggesting?" he asked dryly, and he was rewarded with blunt little half-moons dug lightly into his collarbone by Lucius's fingernails.
"I am suggesting that, for the sake of appearances, it would look better if you didn't have to be tied down for the ritual. If I were certain you knew what you were getting into and that you could be trusted not to react poorly, then I don't think that such extremes would be necessary." Lucius's voice should have been classified as a weapon. Low, smooth, and unaccountably soothing, but Regulus knew better than to let himself be lulled. He knew he didn't have the power in this situation, but that didn't mean he was going to let the man have it easy.
"What are you suggesting?" he insisted softly, and though his mastery of his voice was no match for that of Lucius, it came out nearly a purr and didn't shake.
"I want to fuck you," Lucius hissed. "Right now." The words were a bolt of heat straight to Regulus's cock, and though he wasn't particularly interested in sex with a near stranger in a lukewarm garden, his body was predictably traitorous and reacted with enthusiasm. The man's arms slipped around him from behind to unfasten several more buttons at the front of his robes until they could be lifted off over his head. They were the thick sort of robes that didn't require any additional layers underneath, and Regulus shivered with gooseflesh as he stood there only in pants, the warmth at his back doing nothing but reminding the rest of him how cool the air was.
The climostasis charm only prevented the garden from dying; the temperature couldn't have been much above freezing. Regulus wrapped his arms around himself but didn't turn to face Lucius. "Why here?" he muttered. "Is there something wrong with your bedroom?"
Fingers ghosted across the tops of his shoulders, down each arm. His hair stood on end, a quiver racing up and down his spine that could only partially be blamed upon the temperature. Lucius murmured a localized heating charm and made the Latin sound like a smirk. "Technically, there is nothing wrong with my bedroom." Regulus couldn't imagine how he'd thought Lucius's hands were cold before, because now the man's smooth palms seemed to sear their way down his hips and thighs, stripping him of his pants. "My father wants to pretend he doesn't know we're doing this," Lucius whispered conspiratorially, "even though it was his suggestion."
While the information was not exactly surprising, Regulus found he didn't really like the idea of Abraxas Malfoy thinking about his sex life, even if that had been a large part of the earlier marriage negotiations. He wondered if his own parents had been involved in the decision, and the fact that they probably had-his mother, at the very least-dissolved most of the meager enthusiasm he'd managed to dredge up, his arousal drooping in the face of parental meddling.
"Oh, now, we can't have that…" Lucius was almost a head taller than Regulus, the man crouching a little as he rested his chin on Regulus's shoulder, gazing down his body. Lucius's fingers wrapped around his half-full cock, sliding up and down the soft, delicate skin. Those hands, devoid of the callus Regulus had spent a childhood of broomhandling to develop, could have belonged to a woman. For a long, futile moment, he debated pretending that it was a woman who was working him up, maybe the youngest Nott girl; she played the piano and her touch might be as strong and confident as this felt. There was no point though, because this was not a woman, and there would definitely be no fooling himself later on. He focused instead upon the sensation itself, the fact that it was not the roughened pads of his own fingers teasing the large vein along the underside of his cock, slicking his slit with precome. When he wanked, it was quick and furtive, vicious in his need for a release; this was so different, languid and vaguely teasing, that the sheer novelty of another person pleasuring him sent a jolt of heat low in his abdomen, curling and teasing like a restless animal.
It had been only a few days since the last time he'd relieved himself. Too long, apparently. He leaned heavily against Lucius's chest and came fast and hard before he'd even realized he was so close. There hadn't been enough build-up to make him sweaty or shaky and although he was pressed against Lucius, his stance was firm and steady. This close, Regulus could make out the man's scent: clean, sharp, and slightly musky. He thought he liked it, though it might have been the tide of endorphins washing through his body, and he tried not to be obvious as he breathed it in. It was harder to remember you weren't sure how you felt about someone when they'd just given you an orgasm.
"Now that you've been taken care of," Lucius murmured somewhere at the vicinity of his temple, "I can focus upon teaching you thoroughly." It might have been Regulus's imagination, but Lucius's voice seemed rougher than it had previously, like the man had swallowed a double shot of gin straight up, no chaser. "Lie down, face up," Lucius instructed him, and apparently the handjob had done what it had been intended for, because it was with very little anxiety indeed that Regulus obeyed the command.
Lucius wore trousers beneath his robes, and probably a shirt too, though Regulus didn't get to see it. The man took off only what he needed to, shoes and trousers in an untidy pile on top of Regulus's clothing. It was with some vague alarm that Regulus dug his elbows into the chill grass to watch Lucius part his thighs to kneel between them, robes bunched up around his hips to reveal an erection that, while it was not exceptionally large, was nonetheless intimidating. Regulus felt himself clench involuntarily.
"This first part is something you are going to have to do for yourself before the ritual," Lucius murmured. He conjured a bottle of dark blue, nearly opaque glass and then set his wand aside. "It is not sex for pleasure, but for a purpose, and I think you'll want to take care of as much of it as you can in private, anyway." Though Lucius's voice was still somewhat hoarse, there was no real sympathy in the tone, a good reminder to Regulus that the man didn't really care about his comfort. He thought he was probably leaning towards "dislike" for his assessment of his fiancé. But Lucius lubricating his fingers with the slick, oily substance from the bottle was distracting, so Regulus decided to put off his final decision.
When he felt the first intruding finger, not at all tentative, Regulus almost choked on a gasp, expelling a nervous little laugh that cracked though his voice hadn't for almost a year now. "This won't do," he heard Lucius mutter under his breath, and suddenly, though there was still a hand between Regulus's thighs, the man had managed to sink down and press very close, free hand carding lightly through Regulus's hair and massaging his scalp. It wasn't really affection, but it was relaxing, and when Lucius began thrusting his finger, pushing gradually deeper inside Regulus, the muscles didn't tense up again.
The sensation wasn't unpleasant, even after a second finger joined the first. Lucius clearly knew what he was doing and Regulus wondered how experienced the man was and whether he might not have been glad he wasn't marrying a woman.
Regulus had fixed his eyes on a point at the top of the hedge to keep himself from looking at Lucius while this was done, but the third finger was awkward and uncomfortable, negating the vague stirrings of pleasure he'd begun to feel. He gritted his teeth and dropped his gaze to glare into the man's dancing grey eyes, and received a wry smirk for his trouble. "Don't look at me like that," Lucius snorted. "Discomfort now is better than blood later." Regulus swallowed thickly and nodded in agreement, because the man didn't need to know how that image had bottomed out his stomach.
Somewhere down the line, the discomfort slowly ebbed. The muscle loosened, warm and liquid with Lucius's expert ministrations and the light friction of his knuckles driving rhythmic and deep. Regulus found he was no longer worried about Lucius fucking him-nothing the man had done was painful. It was difficult to be worried when you were starting to get hard again, every twist and wiggle of the digits within him sending a shiver up his spine. And though Lucius had taken his time with the preparation, opening Regulus up slowly and thoroughly, somehow the man was still aroused as well, his cock a florid purple that must have ached, and arched taut against his stomach.
Then Lucius did something-his fingers sank deep and stroked. In less than the span of a heartbeat, Regulus's concentration came undone, a low groan torn from his throat. Every thought save one had fractured. "Again," he hissed in a raw, needy voice he didn't recognize as his own. But instead the fingers were withdrawn from his body, and he'd never felt so empty, his nerve endings crying out for sensation that didn't come. "Lucius," he groaned, drawing out the sibilance-it wasn't a name, but a plea. Regulus palmed his cock, grown thick and heavy again, still sticky from before. He watched as Lucius stroked himself too, the man's length glistening with more of the lubricant from the blue bottle.
Regulus knew what came next, could read it in his fiancé's smouldering gaze, the frenetic bob of his Adam's apple, the fingerprints that would likely bruise onto his hips where Lucius gripped them to drag his body closer, thighs draped wantonly over the man's lap. There was no room left for nervousness or even the memory that he'd ever had reason to be anxious. He squirmed further into Lucius's lap, closer to the man's body, and was rewarded with a low groan and the thrust of Lucius's hips, cock sliding between his cheeks. "Do it," Regulus gritted, choking on his own breath.
Lucius had plied him so slowly, brought him so very close to completion that any lingering discomfort when he was finally penetrated was completely overwhelmed by the pleasure of being filled, in a way that mere fingers had not satisfied. Some small part of Regulus's lizard brain whispered that, if only for this, he should be glad he wasn't being married off to a girl.
Their bodies flowed together like the push and pull of ocean waves, Regulus riding the power of Lucius's thrusts. The man was no longer patient and controlled, and Regulus no longer needed him to be. He cried out mindless, broken pleas for mercy as his hand stuttered along his own cock, as Lucius reached every inch of him, deep within, surging relentlessly.
Regulus's orgasm struck hard, a low, breathless, and thready moan ripped from his throat. His fingers twitched reflexively as he spurted once, twice, three times and then he milked himself dry, trickling hot down his wrist. And still Lucius pounded into him, grunting harshly.
The man's hair was in disarray, his robes plastered to his arms and torso by sweat. His eyes were shut tight now, and his lower lip was white where it had been trapped between his teeth. Lucius was close, too. Regulus stared up at him in a blissed-out haze and thought the man looked glorious. If he looked like that forever, and maybe never spoke again, Regulus thought they could have a happy marriage.
Both of them groaned when Lucius came, the man bowing his back, every muscle rigid as he jerked his hips arrhythmically. Regulus thought he could melt into the grass beneath him; the heat that seared his already hypersensitive nerves left him feeling shattered, exhausted, and barely connected to his much more solid surroundings. He reached up, resting his hands lightly on Lucius's hot, damp shoulders, then closed his eyes and let his body bask.
He must have fallen asleep briefly, because he was jolted back to consciousness when Lucius pulled his softening cock from Regulus's well-used hole. The man stood and nudged his hip with a foot. "Clean and dress yourself. This took longer than I wanted it to." Regulus felt chilled despite the lingering warming charm. He watched Lucius scourgify his skin, dry his robes, put on his trousers, socks, and shoes, all without moving from his place on the grass. And then when the man fixed narrowed, expectant eyes upon him, he glared right back.
"You may have the better position, the better standing," Regulus muttered as he gingerly rose to his feet, a little surprised he was sore in places he hadn't realized there were muscles, in addition to that most obvious place. "But I am marrying you, not hiring on as your servant. Treating me dismissively is not something I think you want to do." He was naked but he forced himself to lock eyes with Lucius, stand his ground. It was difficult not to fidget. Especially when the man folded his arms and arched an eyebrow, a move he knew was calculated to make him squirm.
Finally, Lucius rolled his eyes, breaking a tension that Regulus hadn't quite noticed until it dissipated. "Despite your naïveté," he murmured, so quietly Regulus couldn't be sure the man wasn't just talking to himself, "I think this may work out well for both of us." Then, louder: "You've made your point. Can we be getting back now, before my father sends a house elf to search for us?" Unexpectedly, Lucius grinned. "Or would you prefer that? I can summon one if His Highness needs help dressing. Wouldn't want to treat the little king like a servant."
And though he knew he had made his point, that-dare he even hope it-Lucius might even respect him a little for it, in the span of a few words Regulus was reduced back to an awkward sixteen-year-old, scrambling for his wand and robes, cheeks flaming. In all his life, he'd never made himself presentable so quickly.
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