"Living in Sin" 2/5 (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
Walburga Black was a strategic genius when it came to getting what she wanted; Regulus's bachelorhood lasted only a week and a half after the contract was signed. And technically, he was already legally married, as the paperwork and marriage license had been filed almost immediately after the contract had been. There was no party to celebrate, but that was more because Regulus did not want to invite any of his friends to the marriage ritual-bad enough that his parents would be there; he was almost more comfortable with the idea of strangers and casual acquaintances witnessing the spectacle. At least he didn't miss the fact he didn't have a bachelor party; after what he and Lucius had done in the maze, he couldn't understand the appeal of a stripper-and at sixteen, he believed that the stripper had to be the whole point of a bachelor party. But why would he want to look without touching if he was going to get to have sex again, even with the looming promise it wouldn't be as good as the first.
Every time he thought about that afternoon, the hour or so spent in the Malfoys' maze, Regulus felt increasingly ridiculous. It had been in his thoughts with such frequency that he was no longer certain it had been as mind-blowing as he remembered it to be. It was what he had pictured every time he wanked since then, which was also frequently. There was no correspondence from Lucius in that intervening week and a half, but he supposed he hadn't really expected any, either. Likewise, he hadn't sent a word to Lucius, but that was hardly the point. The point was that the lack of contact and self-doubt only added to his unease, the anxiety of the ritual to come.
It was scheduled for three days after Christmas. The ritual itself would take place in the smaller of the Malfoys' two ballrooms, so that there would be ample space to paint the magical arrays that would focus the power of the incantations. Regulus was not terribly surprised by the location, though even the smaller ballroom seemed much too large for such an intimate act. He was shocked to hear that it was to take place at noon; he'd thought dark and candlelight would have been the appropriate setting for a blood magic sex ritual.
Regulus and his parents flooed to the Malfoys' estate early, though he wasn't sure what he was expected to do with three hours inside his own, personal guest suite-the bathroom of which was bigger than his bedroom at home; no wonder the Blacks had more money than the Malfoys.
He wandered the room in slow circles, sliding his fingers across the high gloss of the furniture, the thick embroidery of the duvet. Hours by himself was enough time to consider every little thing that could go wrong, to agonize until his nerves frayed. Pacing helped; touching focused his attention elsewhere, on tactile input. An hour passed that way, even though Regulus hadn't expressly been told he couldn't leave the room; he knew better than to wander. And then his father swept into the room, which had been the last thing he'd expected-interference was his mother's territory.
Over his arm, Orion Black carried a garment bag, which he laid on the bed. Regulus finished a circuit of the room, touching a tasseled pillow, tracing the pattern of a lampshade, before slipping to his father's side to stare down at the bag uncomprehending. It turned out to contain dress robes of unparalleled cut and quality, in a light, soft dove-grey fabric that would set off the blue in his eyes. It had slipped his mind that there would be anything to this marriage ritual other than the sex, and thus he would actually need something new to wear.
"You will wear this down to the ballroom," his father confirmed in that rumble of a voice Regulus found so reassuring, "and afterwards, once you've cleaned up, for the reception. You will likely be tired after the ritual, and your guests will understand that, but you will still be expected to circulate, thank them for their participation in the incantations, et cetera."
Regulus nodded, mumbled an, "Of course, Father." He stared at the robes, wondering how he was going to face these people fresh from the sex they'd watched him have. "Where is Mother?" He wasn't really worried at her absence-he was only curious whether he'd have to endure a second interruption later.
"I told her to wait downstairs. I didn't imagine you'd mind." His father's hand dropped onto his shoulder, and Regulus turned to face the man, meeting his gaze cautiously. "You should spend your time readying yourself for the ritual, instead of pacing." Orion's eyes flicked away briefly, and then came back, and Regulus could only stare because he had never before seen his father show discomfort.
"You don't want me to marry a man," Regulus remarked, thoughtlessly, perfectly stunned.
A flash of movement was all he saw just as Orion cuffed him across the mouth with the back of his hand, hard enough to be a reprimand, but without leaving a mark. (Any mark could have been healed, but his father prided himself on even temperament.) The man lacked expression, but his eyes were furious, and Regulus was almost certain that the anger wasn't only for him. "Lucius Malfoy is a good match for you, better than any other your mother could have arranged. No son of mine ought to be bearing children, but duty is rarely pleasant," he acknowledged, voice somewhat tight. "You are a good boy though, Regulus, and it is through no fault of your own that this duty is your burden to bear. I know you will make me proud." Regulus noticed his mother hadn't been included in that, but he was so pleased by his father's praise that he didn't let himself give it too much thought. He grinned, though it hurt his mouth a little, and his father's moustache twitched a bit, too, eyes warming slightly. A squeeze to his shoulder and then Orion slipped back out.
Regulus wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring at the robes, smiling at them and soaking in the absurd warmth his father's words had inspired. He didn't hear the door, but it must have opened, because he was startled from his thoughts by a finger drawn slowly across the back of his neck. He whirled around, and there was Lucius; of course it had to be him. Regulus was possessed by a mad urge to kiss the man, even though that was something they hadn't done in the maze, and it could only be his hormones that had supplied him with such an impulse.
"You haven't even begun," Lucius mused quietly. "I expected to find you naked on the bed." A thrill crept up Regulus's spine at the throaty quality of the man's voice. "You should be at two fingers at least, by now," he continued. "After all, I thought I had made it clear you shouldn't rush."
Lucius was carrying a goblet-the hysterigenesis potion-but he set it aside on the table next to the bed. Just as fastidiously, he removed Regulus's dress robes to a chair. "Don't you know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?" Regulus sniped, trying for sarcasm but choking on it when Lucius slid right up against the front of his body, slipping his hands into Regulus's pockets. He came out with the opaque blue bottle of lubricant, but his fingers had traced the subtle curve of Regulus's hardening cock in the process. "Fuck," Regulus remarked eloquently, not at all managing to stifle his shiver.
"You aren't a bride, and we already established you won't abide being treated like one," Lucius snorted with a wry twist of his lips. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Now strip, and get on the bed."
Lucius didn't give him space to undress, but neither did Regulus try to move away to unbutton his robes. His knuckles worked their way slowly down Lucius's body, each movement more deliberate than it needed to be. "You came in here because you wanted to watch, didn't you?" Regulus asked once his robes were a puddle at his feet-today, he hadn't bothered with pants, or any other layers. He toed off his shoes and socks without breaking eye contact, applauding his own gall. "So watch." His heart raced as he plucked the bottle from Lucius's fingers and scooted backwards onto the bed.
Glad he had thought to practice a few times (which had led to most of the Lucius-inspired wank fantasies), Regulus splayed one leg out wide, the other tucked in and bent at the knee. He dribbled a small pool of oil on his stomach and then trailed his fingers slowly through it to moisten them. Lucius's eyes had darkened to something stormy, and Regulus was careful not to grin, which was made a little easier a moment later when he contorted himself to plunge two fingers into his hole, all the way to the middle knuckle. It was less trouble relaxing his muscles around his own digits, but it had felt far better when Lucius had done it. Stubbornly, he refused to acknowledge the difference; he was going to do this himself since he'd settled on showing off.
He started with quick, shallow thrusts, focusing on loosening that first tight ring of muscle. Toes curling and clenching with the strain, he braced his elbow against the bed to drive his fingers deeper. Regulus licked his lips, breathing heavily through his nose, and he stared into Lucius's face as he finger-fucked himself. And Lucius didn't move an inch from where Regulus had undressed, so, so close to the bed. He withdrew his fingers, shiny-slick and quivering, and crooked them at Lucius, inviting him closer.
The man growled, a sound that made Regulus's cock twitch, and Lucius slid him further onto the bed so that he could crawl onto the bed too, between Regulus's knees. Then Lucius smeared his hand through the oil that remained on the boy's abdomen, found Regulus's hand to drag it back down to his entrance. He had to tilt the boy's hips so they could both reach, forcing Regulus to twist around for it. And then Regulus cried out hoarsely as he was impaled with four blunt fingers-two his own, two belonging to Lucius.
"Do you like that, you filthy little tart?" Lucius purred as he drove a harsh, rapid pace, palm sweaty against the back of Regulus's hand. "What happened to my sweet little virgin? You liked it so much you're gagging for more, hmm? Did you practice for me?" Regulus choked on a moan as Lucius twisted their fingers, nodded weakly even though he'd never intended to do this for an audience. "I am going to fuck you until you come apart," Lucius hissed. "I'll bet your parents and uncles and cousins will love that." Regulus felt the tip of Lucius's tongue trace the shell of his ear, hot breath harsh and chill against the wet, and when teeth set lightly into the tendon just below, at the side of his neck, he arched and came with a grunt, no touch at all to his cock. In the next second he fumbled his left hand around it to milk himself dry and gasped through his nose at his own receptivity.
Lucius slowed his pace, the stroke of their intertwined fingers become something languid, but every thrust burst through Regulus with a spasm of hypersensitivity. He'd been reduced to nothing but a raw nerve. "Enough," he choked, and was honestly a little surprised when the man, albeit reluctantly, released his fingers and pulled away.
"You should drink the potion now; it doesn't retain potency as long once it has been removed from the fire." Amusing how Lucius could sound so businesslike when Regulus could clearly see the shape of the man's erection outlined in the front of his robes. And Regulus decided to actively push his luck, wiping his fingers clean on the duvet and then holding out his hand expectantly for the potion. He closed his eyes impudently as Lucius stared at him.
"I can feel the mark you left on my neck," Regulus commented, after the silence had grown too thin and brittle between them. As if it were a viable excuse. The bed shifted as Lucius moved, but Regulus didn't smile until the weight of the goblet settled in his fingers. Only a few seconds passed before Regulus opened his eyes and sat up to drink it, but by the time he did, Lucius had already made his exit.
The potion tasted like caviar gone bad and looked like porridge made with swamp water. Afterwards, Regulus wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to get it down without triggering his gag reflex. He didn't rinse his mouth afterwards; he didn't expect that Lucius would kiss him, but if the man did, then he could share the awful aftertaste.
Regulus had taken his time cleaning up. He was still fastening the large, wooden toggle buttons at the top of his robes when his father returned to fetch him. "Good, you're ready," Orion remarked, and Regulus pretended not to notice the way his father's gaze lingered on the livid bruise high up on the side of his neck. He had spent a good ten minutes staring at it, too, and had chosen not to heal it away. "There is just one last thing. You are to relinquish your wand." Regulus's hand flinched towards his arm-sheath before his father's narrowing eyes arrested the movement. "Neither you nor Lucius will have your wands. Only those performing the communal magic need have them, and your wands might cause interference."
This was his father, a man he loved and trusted above any other. And Regulus still hated letting go of his wand, watching it disappear into Orion's pocket. He sighed as he unstrapped the sheath from his forearm and tossed it onto the pile of his things he'd left on the bed. He supposed he was truly ready for the ritual now-he didn't think he could possibly feel more naked and vulnerable than he already did. "Let's get this over with," he muttered, and he liked to think his father shared the sentiment because there was not even a hint of a sharp look on the man's face as he turned to lead the way.
The small ballroom had no windows; Regulus hadn't expected that. It looked positively medieval, a dark, cave-like room lit only by wall sconces. He could make out the metallic gleam of an intricate chandelier, but only a few inches curved low enough to catch the light-the chandelier itself was not in use, though it easily could have illuminated the whole room.
Through the veritable gloom, Regulus counted thirteen faces, and to his reluctant relief almost half were Blacks. His mother was talking to his Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella, the parents of Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa, who stood apart in a small circle, and the last of which Regulus had hoped not to see. Walburga glanced over when he and his father entered and delivered (to Orion, Regulus was almost certain) a scathing glare. Abraxas Malfoy was deep in conversation with Ignatius Prewett (an uncle by marriage of whom Regulus was not particularly fond), which conveniently placed him as far from Walburga as he could get without looking like he was avoiding her.
Lucius, whom he certainly had not looked for first, stood at the middle of a group that included Bella's husband, Rodolphus Lestrange, Walden Macnair, Evan Rosier, and Rabastan Lestrange-who was supposed to be Regulus's best friend, and thus had not been invited, just like the rest of his friends. He should have realized Rodolphus would come, and that Rabastan could wheedle anything from his big brother. It did seem promising that so many death eaters had come to participate in his marriage ritual, though.
Regulus approached the magical array painted on the floor only because his father, walking beside him, hadn't so much as paused. It was comprised of a series of interconnected concentric circles of varying sizes, the smallest of which was probably two meters in diameter. Between the rings, glyphs were inscribed in an alphabet Regulus couldn't read. They were supposedly dormant spells, to help focus the communal magic towards the center of the array, towards him. The paint itself was supposed to do that, too, according to what he'd read. It gleamed like burnished blue titanium against the white marble floor, and it was some manner of potion, but he couldn't remember anything about it except that it called for a small measure of powdered unicorn horn, which made it a very expensive potion to brew.
Orion Black cleared his throat, and that was enough to end every conversation. "Let us begin." Regulus raised an eyebrow when Rabastan stepped up to him with an eager grin.
"I can't believe you didn't tell me," Rabastan grumbled, before shaking his head. "They won't let me participate since I'm not yet of age, but your father said that I could do this." Before Regulus had a chance to ask what it was Rabastan could do, the other boy seized him by the collar and made quick work of his buttons. His posture was rigid and perfect as Rabastan wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and then skirted around to Regulus's back, shucking the robes from his body. He could imagine the flourish as his friend shook them out and folded them but didn't trust himself to check if he was right. "Don't worry," Rabastan whispered into his ear over his shoulder. "Lucius gets this treatment, too."
Regulus didn't get to see that part. His father was speaking again. "Abraxas, you have the knife. Would you like to do the honours?" Lucius's father stepped forward carrying a large, unadorned dagger. The blade was straight, a dull, dark grey; Regulus had never seen anything more terrifying. His mind went numb; he twitched, nearly bolting, but his father must have anticipated that because Orion's hand clamped down on the back of his neck. Fingers dug into the muscle, and like a cat seized by its scruff, all the tension leaked from his body. He watched with queasy fascination as Abraxas sliced shallowly across the middle of his own palm. The man passed the dagger to Orion and pressed his palm to Regulus's shoulder, leaving a thick bloody smudge.
Regulus could have kicked himself for his moment of sheer terror. Of course the dagger wasn't for him; he wasn't the one performing blood magic, but the blood would be a tangible link to him for the people who were. Most of the rest conducted themselves like Abraxas had, leaving their marks quickly and moving to a position at the outside of the magical array. However, when it was Bella's turn, the woman swooped in like a harpy, grinning as she pressed too close. "I know you needed a sponsor, Dear, but I don't think this one was the right choice," she sing-songed in a whisper at his ear.
Bella had been his favourite cousin, once. "You wouldn't," Regulus hissed back just as sweetly. "I had to take what I could get."
"Take what wasn't yours, you mean." Bella cut her palm deep, smeared blood on her lips, and left a sloppy kiss print on Regulus's cheek. It took all his self-control not to scrub at it.
Narcissa came last, her expression one of stiff formality. But Bella's words had been bothering Regulus, and before Narcissa could cut herself he grabbed both her hands in his, cautiously where she grasped the hilt of the dagger. He didn't care that everyone was watching, that they were all waiting on him. It was a strangely liberating moment focused on the only one of his cousins who'd never been anything but sweet to him. "I was told there was no formal agreement between you two," he whispered urgently.
Daintily she plucked her fingers from his grip, sliced her hand open with ladylike precision. Her eyes were blue and frigid. "Nothing had been signed," she confirmed quietly, her tone emotionless and unforgiving. "We weren't even seeing one another. But he would have been quite the catch for me if he hadn't had his eye out for something better." She let the dagger clatter to the floor so that she could drag a manicured finger through the blood she'd cupped in a small puddle welling in her palm. She used it to draw a heart slightly to the left of Regulus's breastbone, digging in her nail so hard he was sure his blood mingled with hers.
Regulus watched her cross to Lucius to repeat the process. Lucius didn't speak to her, and if Narcissa said anything it was too low to make out on his side of the array. However, Lucius's lips tightened when she drew an "x" over his chest, and Regulus was almost certain it must have been gouged into his skin, too. He decided he didn't feel at all bad for her if all she'd had were expectations. Narcissa would have done well to learn from Sirius's example, too.
Once Narcissa had moved to her position, Regulus was afforded a clear view of Lucius, standing almost directly opposite him at the other side of the array. The man looked like a Nordic god of war with better cheekbones. Lithe and long-limbed, clad in nothing but smeared blood, he still seemed to exude confidence. Regulus told himself he could do that, too. Make a good showing. It wasn't as if he really had to do anything; technically, he did not even need to be aroused.
Lucius stepped into the bare space at the middle of the array and then stretched out his arm, coaxing Regulus forward with the crook of a finger. He didn't want it to look like he was obeying a command, but at the same time the others were waiting on him to start the ritual. The paint was dry beneath his feet, but he stepped across it gingerly anyway. It was thick enough that he could feel its texture, make out curves and shapes without looking down at them.
Whatever arousal there had been on Lucius's part, up in Regulus's guest chambers, had waned in the time since-as expected, really. Before he could be given instructions or over-think the decision, Regulus stepped right up close, wrapping his fingers loosely around Lucius's cock, as casually as one might offer a handshake. It was a little slick, as if Lucius had lubed himself earlier but most had soaked in or rubbed away inside his robes, and he grunted like he'd been punched when Regulus began stroking.
"Why draw this out any more than it needs to be?" Regulus muttered to Lucius under his breath. He was embarrassed his voice shook when he spoke, but at least it had not been loud enough for any of the others to hear.
"Your mouth would be more effective." Regulus's cheeks flamed; he was not dropping to his knees, especially with witnesses. However, Lucius missed the reaction, his eyes closed in concentration as he widened his stance, presumably for better balance.
He wondered what it meant that it wasn't difficult for him to get Lucius hard. Was it Regulus himself, or their audience-maybe Lucius liked to be watched?-or maybe Lucius was just easy, or was he picturing someone other than Regulus touching him? "I wouldn't want to be too effective, and spoil the ritual," he sniped. He gave Lucius a light, brief squeeze right at the root and then released him, satisfied when the man emitted a low groan.
Lucius's fingers on his shoulder guided him to the floor, but only once Regulus felt Lucius begin to kneel, too. Regulus was certain the man was amused by his stubbornness, but he wasn't sure how he could tell-Lucius's mouth gave nothing away. He reclined and lay flat on the floor, Lucius crouched before him. And as a dozen voices rose around them, beginning the first incantation, Regulus's focus shattered. The first pulse of magic hit him like a train, breath leaving him in a gush as his back bowed with the strain. And in the instant before he panicked, he realized it was never the sex they should have worried about.
The air was dry and fairly crackled with magic, growing dense and oppressive. It might have thickened, slogging through his lungs, or Regulus might have been hyperventilating. Every hair on his body stood on end, his skin crawling with the latent power of the array and the men and women around it. He needed to get out, he needed to get away, his mind was buzzing with activity he couldn't control. Regulus tried to squirm, crabwalk on his elbows out of the center.
Lucius's hands closed upon his hips, hard enough to bruise, and it was as if a circuit had closed. Regulus screamed, trying to kick out though Lucius was already positioned firmly between his legs. It felt as though his whole body was on fire, but not pain, precisely. Intensity, sensory overload-wasn't Lucius feeling any of this too? Regulus lashed out blindly, his blunt fingernails scoring bloody grooves down the man's shoulder, rising to tangle fiercely in long blonde hair.
Lucius snarled at him, seizing one of his wrists and slamming it hard to the marble floor. It didn't stop Regulus yanking the man's hair, his heels thumping uselessly at Lucius's back, his thighs. But Lucius was grasping at Regulus's hip with his free hand, teeth bared in an ugly grimace as he struggled to align their bodies. After a few blind thrusts, he drove in deep, and Regulus screamed again as the magic intensified around them, through them. Lucius immediately began to fuck him into the floor despite his thrashing.
Regulus was barely aware of the voices of his family and the others around him; all he could hear was blood rushing in his ears and the subsonic hush of magic throbbing in time with his heartbeat, or in cadence with the incantation, or counterpoint to Lucius's thrusts, or all of them, somehow simultaneously. To his numb, uncaring surprise, his cock was harder than he could ever remember it being, and that had to be the magic, too. Regulus wasn't sure at what point he stopped fighting, but all at once, as if he'd blacked out partway through, he became aware of his arms wrapped tightly around Lucius's shoulders, clinging to the man as he rode the surge of their bodies, the rising voice of the magic.
Lucius's manicured nails dug into his hips, and then Regulus was rocking forward, Lucius sitting back and up and pulling him into his lap. The boy threw his head back and groaned with the shifted angle, Lucius's length sunk deeper. His fingers smoothed light and reverent through the man's hair, and Lucius returned the favour by gouging half-moons into his flesh, lifting his hips and slamming them down hard, over and over.
The man's movements were frenzied, more animal than human. Regulus planted his feet to help drive Lucius harder and deeper, gasping through his nose and keening in the back of his throat. The air around them howled with the fury of the magic, without so much as ruffling their sweat-soaked hair. Regulus crested wave after wave of pleasure so intense it qualified as pain, levels of gratification he hadn't thought possible to reach without climaxing. And still it continued, Lucius driving into him unabated, no release in sight.
The magic reached a crescendo, and by degrees Regulus became aware of more than just Lucius and the pulse that joined them. He heard twelve voices linked in purpose, chanting layered in three-part harmony. A single, suspended note that made the air shimmer, the light from the wall sconces dimming in deference to a greater, more primal power. And as the voices fell away, one last, massive throb of magic seared through the array, into Regulus and Lucius. They screamed as one, came as one, and Regulus sobbed as the pressure of the air around them abruptly diminished.
He blacked out, but only later discovered that this was not unexpected, and that Lucius hadn't stayed conscious, either.
Regulus awoke in a bed, still naked, but at least clean. Not his own bed, and perhaps a little nicer than his, he decided as he luxuriated in the feel of cool, soft sheets against his sore and much-abused body. Lucius Malfoy's bed, he realized scant seconds later when he turned his head (slowly-somehow those muscles hurt, too) and found the man lying beside him, watching him.
This close, Lucius had a truly ridiculous number of eyelashes, and Regulus stared at them as he fumbled for something to say. Because what words could possibly be adequate when you'd just woken up from sex that was either so amazing or so awful (and probably both) that it had caused you to lose consciousness? "Did you-" he paused, horrified by the hoarse whisper that was his voice, "Did you expect it to be like that?"
Slowly, Lucius shook his head. "I suspect my father did. I believe he's seen this done before, at least." A ghost of the man's smugness touched his expression. "He was right about you panicking."
As teasing went, this was well-deserved, but Regulus couldn't stop his face going red. "I can't believe you didn't panic, if you truthfully weren't expecting it," he sputtered with more incredulity than anger. "How could you manage to just…to just carry on like that?" He wasn't terribly upset that the man had; if Regulus had managed to escape the circle and break the ritual, he was certain he would have been disowned, regardless of Lucius's opinions on the subject.
"I can only imagine, remembering the way you reacted, that the ritual affected us differently. There was nothing approaching panic for me, just the overwhelming urge to fuck you blind." Stupidly, Regulus's cock gave a half-hearted but interested twitch, and he groaned, because even his balls ached. Lucius gave him a lascivious, if tired, smile. "Not right now; I don't think I could get it up even if I wanted to. And at the moment there is nothing I want less, except maybe to not go to our reception, but unfortunately your mother has already been here to inform me that our presence is not optional." Lucius pulled a face as he sat up, his movements vaguely arthritic. Regulus would have laughed at the man for it, too, except that he was certain his body had to be twice as sore.
Lucius turned to gingerly ease into his robes, and Regulus's eyes devoured the planes of his back, his arse. Someone had mostly healed the scratches Regulus had dug, shoulders crossed in lines of fresh pink. He wondered if they would scar. "You have to make this appearance," Lucius told him without turning to check his position. "After that, you can stay in bed for days if you want to." The man's tone spoke of just how much he relished that idea. "I will slip you all the champagne you can drink, and you can sit in a corner without moving, if only you come along quietly."
It was a plan of many virtues, not the least of which being the simple fact he wouldn't have to move. However, it would make Lucius look good to be circulating among their guests while Regulus babied himself, and that was all he needed to form an objection. His muscles screamed for mercy as he crawled from the bed, and Lucius raised an eyebrow as he retrieved his robes and cringed into them, fingers numbly working the toggles.
"I will come along quietly, and you can certainly feed me as much champagne as you want." Regulus walked up to Lucius, pressed close though every step was agony from the soles of his feet all the way up his frame. "But if you can mingle, I can mingle, and isn't it customary for the married couple to have a first dance?" He was getting ahead of himself because of course there was no way in hell he would be able to dance without vast amounts of pain and stiffness.
Lucius rolled his eyes. "I cannot even imagine what your parents' marriage must be like," he muttered. Then, louder: "I refuse to dance with you, but we can stay together if you are so concerned I'll show you up in front of family." A snort, and Lucius grabbed one of Regulus's hands, interlaced their fingers, and then squeezed until it hurt-which honestly wasn't very hard at all.
"These people, our families…their opinions are nearly inconsequential. I realize that until very recently you were the spare, of barely any status at all. But your situation is changed, and you need to realize that now, either of us could do almost anything we want, with no repercussions from family. But we won't, because there is someone whose opinion has far greater import than Abraxas Malfoy's or Walburga Black's.
"My life is joined to yours now," Lucius purred softly. "And that means you had better start thinking about the people who actually matter: you, and me, and most especially Lord Voldemort."
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
Walburga Black was a strategic genius when it came to getting what she wanted; Regulus's bachelorhood lasted only a week and a half after the contract was signed. And technically, he was already legally married, as the paperwork and marriage license had been filed almost immediately after the contract had been. There was no party to celebrate, but that was more because Regulus did not want to invite any of his friends to the marriage ritual-bad enough that his parents would be there; he was almost more comfortable with the idea of strangers and casual acquaintances witnessing the spectacle. At least he didn't miss the fact he didn't have a bachelor party; after what he and Lucius had done in the maze, he couldn't understand the appeal of a stripper-and at sixteen, he believed that the stripper had to be the whole point of a bachelor party. But why would he want to look without touching if he was going to get to have sex again, even with the looming promise it wouldn't be as good as the first.
Every time he thought about that afternoon, the hour or so spent in the Malfoys' maze, Regulus felt increasingly ridiculous. It had been in his thoughts with such frequency that he was no longer certain it had been as mind-blowing as he remembered it to be. It was what he had pictured every time he wanked since then, which was also frequently. There was no correspondence from Lucius in that intervening week and a half, but he supposed he hadn't really expected any, either. Likewise, he hadn't sent a word to Lucius, but that was hardly the point. The point was that the lack of contact and self-doubt only added to his unease, the anxiety of the ritual to come.
It was scheduled for three days after Christmas. The ritual itself would take place in the smaller of the Malfoys' two ballrooms, so that there would be ample space to paint the magical arrays that would focus the power of the incantations. Regulus was not terribly surprised by the location, though even the smaller ballroom seemed much too large for such an intimate act. He was shocked to hear that it was to take place at noon; he'd thought dark and candlelight would have been the appropriate setting for a blood magic sex ritual.
Regulus and his parents flooed to the Malfoys' estate early, though he wasn't sure what he was expected to do with three hours inside his own, personal guest suite-the bathroom of which was bigger than his bedroom at home; no wonder the Blacks had more money than the Malfoys.
He wandered the room in slow circles, sliding his fingers across the high gloss of the furniture, the thick embroidery of the duvet. Hours by himself was enough time to consider every little thing that could go wrong, to agonize until his nerves frayed. Pacing helped; touching focused his attention elsewhere, on tactile input. An hour passed that way, even though Regulus hadn't expressly been told he couldn't leave the room; he knew better than to wander. And then his father swept into the room, which had been the last thing he'd expected-interference was his mother's territory.
Over his arm, Orion Black carried a garment bag, which he laid on the bed. Regulus finished a circuit of the room, touching a tasseled pillow, tracing the pattern of a lampshade, before slipping to his father's side to stare down at the bag uncomprehending. It turned out to contain dress robes of unparalleled cut and quality, in a light, soft dove-grey fabric that would set off the blue in his eyes. It had slipped his mind that there would be anything to this marriage ritual other than the sex, and thus he would actually need something new to wear.
"You will wear this down to the ballroom," his father confirmed in that rumble of a voice Regulus found so reassuring, "and afterwards, once you've cleaned up, for the reception. You will likely be tired after the ritual, and your guests will understand that, but you will still be expected to circulate, thank them for their participation in the incantations, et cetera."
Regulus nodded, mumbled an, "Of course, Father." He stared at the robes, wondering how he was going to face these people fresh from the sex they'd watched him have. "Where is Mother?" He wasn't really worried at her absence-he was only curious whether he'd have to endure a second interruption later.
"I told her to wait downstairs. I didn't imagine you'd mind." His father's hand dropped onto his shoulder, and Regulus turned to face the man, meeting his gaze cautiously. "You should spend your time readying yourself for the ritual, instead of pacing." Orion's eyes flicked away briefly, and then came back, and Regulus could only stare because he had never before seen his father show discomfort.
"You don't want me to marry a man," Regulus remarked, thoughtlessly, perfectly stunned.
A flash of movement was all he saw just as Orion cuffed him across the mouth with the back of his hand, hard enough to be a reprimand, but without leaving a mark. (Any mark could have been healed, but his father prided himself on even temperament.) The man lacked expression, but his eyes were furious, and Regulus was almost certain that the anger wasn't only for him. "Lucius Malfoy is a good match for you, better than any other your mother could have arranged. No son of mine ought to be bearing children, but duty is rarely pleasant," he acknowledged, voice somewhat tight. "You are a good boy though, Regulus, and it is through no fault of your own that this duty is your burden to bear. I know you will make me proud." Regulus noticed his mother hadn't been included in that, but he was so pleased by his father's praise that he didn't let himself give it too much thought. He grinned, though it hurt his mouth a little, and his father's moustache twitched a bit, too, eyes warming slightly. A squeeze to his shoulder and then Orion slipped back out.
Regulus wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring at the robes, smiling at them and soaking in the absurd warmth his father's words had inspired. He didn't hear the door, but it must have opened, because he was startled from his thoughts by a finger drawn slowly across the back of his neck. He whirled around, and there was Lucius; of course it had to be him. Regulus was possessed by a mad urge to kiss the man, even though that was something they hadn't done in the maze, and it could only be his hormones that had supplied him with such an impulse.
"You haven't even begun," Lucius mused quietly. "I expected to find you naked on the bed." A thrill crept up Regulus's spine at the throaty quality of the man's voice. "You should be at two fingers at least, by now," he continued. "After all, I thought I had made it clear you shouldn't rush."
Lucius was carrying a goblet-the hysterigenesis potion-but he set it aside on the table next to the bed. Just as fastidiously, he removed Regulus's dress robes to a chair. "Don't you know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?" Regulus sniped, trying for sarcasm but choking on it when Lucius slid right up against the front of his body, slipping his hands into Regulus's pockets. He came out with the opaque blue bottle of lubricant, but his fingers had traced the subtle curve of Regulus's hardening cock in the process. "Fuck," Regulus remarked eloquently, not at all managing to stifle his shiver.
"You aren't a bride, and we already established you won't abide being treated like one," Lucius snorted with a wry twist of his lips. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Now strip, and get on the bed."
Lucius didn't give him space to undress, but neither did Regulus try to move away to unbutton his robes. His knuckles worked their way slowly down Lucius's body, each movement more deliberate than it needed to be. "You came in here because you wanted to watch, didn't you?" Regulus asked once his robes were a puddle at his feet-today, he hadn't bothered with pants, or any other layers. He toed off his shoes and socks without breaking eye contact, applauding his own gall. "So watch." His heart raced as he plucked the bottle from Lucius's fingers and scooted backwards onto the bed.
Glad he had thought to practice a few times (which had led to most of the Lucius-inspired wank fantasies), Regulus splayed one leg out wide, the other tucked in and bent at the knee. He dribbled a small pool of oil on his stomach and then trailed his fingers slowly through it to moisten them. Lucius's eyes had darkened to something stormy, and Regulus was careful not to grin, which was made a little easier a moment later when he contorted himself to plunge two fingers into his hole, all the way to the middle knuckle. It was less trouble relaxing his muscles around his own digits, but it had felt far better when Lucius had done it. Stubbornly, he refused to acknowledge the difference; he was going to do this himself since he'd settled on showing off.
He started with quick, shallow thrusts, focusing on loosening that first tight ring of muscle. Toes curling and clenching with the strain, he braced his elbow against the bed to drive his fingers deeper. Regulus licked his lips, breathing heavily through his nose, and he stared into Lucius's face as he finger-fucked himself. And Lucius didn't move an inch from where Regulus had undressed, so, so close to the bed. He withdrew his fingers, shiny-slick and quivering, and crooked them at Lucius, inviting him closer.
The man growled, a sound that made Regulus's cock twitch, and Lucius slid him further onto the bed so that he could crawl onto the bed too, between Regulus's knees. Then Lucius smeared his hand through the oil that remained on the boy's abdomen, found Regulus's hand to drag it back down to his entrance. He had to tilt the boy's hips so they could both reach, forcing Regulus to twist around for it. And then Regulus cried out hoarsely as he was impaled with four blunt fingers-two his own, two belonging to Lucius.
"Do you like that, you filthy little tart?" Lucius purred as he drove a harsh, rapid pace, palm sweaty against the back of Regulus's hand. "What happened to my sweet little virgin? You liked it so much you're gagging for more, hmm? Did you practice for me?" Regulus choked on a moan as Lucius twisted their fingers, nodded weakly even though he'd never intended to do this for an audience. "I am going to fuck you until you come apart," Lucius hissed. "I'll bet your parents and uncles and cousins will love that." Regulus felt the tip of Lucius's tongue trace the shell of his ear, hot breath harsh and chill against the wet, and when teeth set lightly into the tendon just below, at the side of his neck, he arched and came with a grunt, no touch at all to his cock. In the next second he fumbled his left hand around it to milk himself dry and gasped through his nose at his own receptivity.
Lucius slowed his pace, the stroke of their intertwined fingers become something languid, but every thrust burst through Regulus with a spasm of hypersensitivity. He'd been reduced to nothing but a raw nerve. "Enough," he choked, and was honestly a little surprised when the man, albeit reluctantly, released his fingers and pulled away.
"You should drink the potion now; it doesn't retain potency as long once it has been removed from the fire." Amusing how Lucius could sound so businesslike when Regulus could clearly see the shape of the man's erection outlined in the front of his robes. And Regulus decided to actively push his luck, wiping his fingers clean on the duvet and then holding out his hand expectantly for the potion. He closed his eyes impudently as Lucius stared at him.
"I can feel the mark you left on my neck," Regulus commented, after the silence had grown too thin and brittle between them. As if it were a viable excuse. The bed shifted as Lucius moved, but Regulus didn't smile until the weight of the goblet settled in his fingers. Only a few seconds passed before Regulus opened his eyes and sat up to drink it, but by the time he did, Lucius had already made his exit.
The potion tasted like caviar gone bad and looked like porridge made with swamp water. Afterwards, Regulus wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to get it down without triggering his gag reflex. He didn't rinse his mouth afterwards; he didn't expect that Lucius would kiss him, but if the man did, then he could share the awful aftertaste.
Regulus had taken his time cleaning up. He was still fastening the large, wooden toggle buttons at the top of his robes when his father returned to fetch him. "Good, you're ready," Orion remarked, and Regulus pretended not to notice the way his father's gaze lingered on the livid bruise high up on the side of his neck. He had spent a good ten minutes staring at it, too, and had chosen not to heal it away. "There is just one last thing. You are to relinquish your wand." Regulus's hand flinched towards his arm-sheath before his father's narrowing eyes arrested the movement. "Neither you nor Lucius will have your wands. Only those performing the communal magic need have them, and your wands might cause interference."
This was his father, a man he loved and trusted above any other. And Regulus still hated letting go of his wand, watching it disappear into Orion's pocket. He sighed as he unstrapped the sheath from his forearm and tossed it onto the pile of his things he'd left on the bed. He supposed he was truly ready for the ritual now-he didn't think he could possibly feel more naked and vulnerable than he already did. "Let's get this over with," he muttered, and he liked to think his father shared the sentiment because there was not even a hint of a sharp look on the man's face as he turned to lead the way.
The small ballroom had no windows; Regulus hadn't expected that. It looked positively medieval, a dark, cave-like room lit only by wall sconces. He could make out the metallic gleam of an intricate chandelier, but only a few inches curved low enough to catch the light-the chandelier itself was not in use, though it easily could have illuminated the whole room.
Through the veritable gloom, Regulus counted thirteen faces, and to his reluctant relief almost half were Blacks. His mother was talking to his Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella, the parents of Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa, who stood apart in a small circle, and the last of which Regulus had hoped not to see. Walburga glanced over when he and his father entered and delivered (to Orion, Regulus was almost certain) a scathing glare. Abraxas Malfoy was deep in conversation with Ignatius Prewett (an uncle by marriage of whom Regulus was not particularly fond), which conveniently placed him as far from Walburga as he could get without looking like he was avoiding her.
Lucius, whom he certainly had not looked for first, stood at the middle of a group that included Bella's husband, Rodolphus Lestrange, Walden Macnair, Evan Rosier, and Rabastan Lestrange-who was supposed to be Regulus's best friend, and thus had not been invited, just like the rest of his friends. He should have realized Rodolphus would come, and that Rabastan could wheedle anything from his big brother. It did seem promising that so many death eaters had come to participate in his marriage ritual, though.
Regulus approached the magical array painted on the floor only because his father, walking beside him, hadn't so much as paused. It was comprised of a series of interconnected concentric circles of varying sizes, the smallest of which was probably two meters in diameter. Between the rings, glyphs were inscribed in an alphabet Regulus couldn't read. They were supposedly dormant spells, to help focus the communal magic towards the center of the array, towards him. The paint itself was supposed to do that, too, according to what he'd read. It gleamed like burnished blue titanium against the white marble floor, and it was some manner of potion, but he couldn't remember anything about it except that it called for a small measure of powdered unicorn horn, which made it a very expensive potion to brew.
Orion Black cleared his throat, and that was enough to end every conversation. "Let us begin." Regulus raised an eyebrow when Rabastan stepped up to him with an eager grin.
"I can't believe you didn't tell me," Rabastan grumbled, before shaking his head. "They won't let me participate since I'm not yet of age, but your father said that I could do this." Before Regulus had a chance to ask what it was Rabastan could do, the other boy seized him by the collar and made quick work of his buttons. His posture was rigid and perfect as Rabastan wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and then skirted around to Regulus's back, shucking the robes from his body. He could imagine the flourish as his friend shook them out and folded them but didn't trust himself to check if he was right. "Don't worry," Rabastan whispered into his ear over his shoulder. "Lucius gets this treatment, too."
Regulus didn't get to see that part. His father was speaking again. "Abraxas, you have the knife. Would you like to do the honours?" Lucius's father stepped forward carrying a large, unadorned dagger. The blade was straight, a dull, dark grey; Regulus had never seen anything more terrifying. His mind went numb; he twitched, nearly bolting, but his father must have anticipated that because Orion's hand clamped down on the back of his neck. Fingers dug into the muscle, and like a cat seized by its scruff, all the tension leaked from his body. He watched with queasy fascination as Abraxas sliced shallowly across the middle of his own palm. The man passed the dagger to Orion and pressed his palm to Regulus's shoulder, leaving a thick bloody smudge.
Regulus could have kicked himself for his moment of sheer terror. Of course the dagger wasn't for him; he wasn't the one performing blood magic, but the blood would be a tangible link to him for the people who were. Most of the rest conducted themselves like Abraxas had, leaving their marks quickly and moving to a position at the outside of the magical array. However, when it was Bella's turn, the woman swooped in like a harpy, grinning as she pressed too close. "I know you needed a sponsor, Dear, but I don't think this one was the right choice," she sing-songed in a whisper at his ear.
Bella had been his favourite cousin, once. "You wouldn't," Regulus hissed back just as sweetly. "I had to take what I could get."
"Take what wasn't yours, you mean." Bella cut her palm deep, smeared blood on her lips, and left a sloppy kiss print on Regulus's cheek. It took all his self-control not to scrub at it.
Narcissa came last, her expression one of stiff formality. But Bella's words had been bothering Regulus, and before Narcissa could cut herself he grabbed both her hands in his, cautiously where she grasped the hilt of the dagger. He didn't care that everyone was watching, that they were all waiting on him. It was a strangely liberating moment focused on the only one of his cousins who'd never been anything but sweet to him. "I was told there was no formal agreement between you two," he whispered urgently.
Daintily she plucked her fingers from his grip, sliced her hand open with ladylike precision. Her eyes were blue and frigid. "Nothing had been signed," she confirmed quietly, her tone emotionless and unforgiving. "We weren't even seeing one another. But he would have been quite the catch for me if he hadn't had his eye out for something better." She let the dagger clatter to the floor so that she could drag a manicured finger through the blood she'd cupped in a small puddle welling in her palm. She used it to draw a heart slightly to the left of Regulus's breastbone, digging in her nail so hard he was sure his blood mingled with hers.
Regulus watched her cross to Lucius to repeat the process. Lucius didn't speak to her, and if Narcissa said anything it was too low to make out on his side of the array. However, Lucius's lips tightened when she drew an "x" over his chest, and Regulus was almost certain it must have been gouged into his skin, too. He decided he didn't feel at all bad for her if all she'd had were expectations. Narcissa would have done well to learn from Sirius's example, too.
Once Narcissa had moved to her position, Regulus was afforded a clear view of Lucius, standing almost directly opposite him at the other side of the array. The man looked like a Nordic god of war with better cheekbones. Lithe and long-limbed, clad in nothing but smeared blood, he still seemed to exude confidence. Regulus told himself he could do that, too. Make a good showing. It wasn't as if he really had to do anything; technically, he did not even need to be aroused.
Lucius stepped into the bare space at the middle of the array and then stretched out his arm, coaxing Regulus forward with the crook of a finger. He didn't want it to look like he was obeying a command, but at the same time the others were waiting on him to start the ritual. The paint was dry beneath his feet, but he stepped across it gingerly anyway. It was thick enough that he could feel its texture, make out curves and shapes without looking down at them.
Whatever arousal there had been on Lucius's part, up in Regulus's guest chambers, had waned in the time since-as expected, really. Before he could be given instructions or over-think the decision, Regulus stepped right up close, wrapping his fingers loosely around Lucius's cock, as casually as one might offer a handshake. It was a little slick, as if Lucius had lubed himself earlier but most had soaked in or rubbed away inside his robes, and he grunted like he'd been punched when Regulus began stroking.
"Why draw this out any more than it needs to be?" Regulus muttered to Lucius under his breath. He was embarrassed his voice shook when he spoke, but at least it had not been loud enough for any of the others to hear.
"Your mouth would be more effective." Regulus's cheeks flamed; he was not dropping to his knees, especially with witnesses. However, Lucius missed the reaction, his eyes closed in concentration as he widened his stance, presumably for better balance.
He wondered what it meant that it wasn't difficult for him to get Lucius hard. Was it Regulus himself, or their audience-maybe Lucius liked to be watched?-or maybe Lucius was just easy, or was he picturing someone other than Regulus touching him? "I wouldn't want to be too effective, and spoil the ritual," he sniped. He gave Lucius a light, brief squeeze right at the root and then released him, satisfied when the man emitted a low groan.
Lucius's fingers on his shoulder guided him to the floor, but only once Regulus felt Lucius begin to kneel, too. Regulus was certain the man was amused by his stubbornness, but he wasn't sure how he could tell-Lucius's mouth gave nothing away. He reclined and lay flat on the floor, Lucius crouched before him. And as a dozen voices rose around them, beginning the first incantation, Regulus's focus shattered. The first pulse of magic hit him like a train, breath leaving him in a gush as his back bowed with the strain. And in the instant before he panicked, he realized it was never the sex they should have worried about.
The air was dry and fairly crackled with magic, growing dense and oppressive. It might have thickened, slogging through his lungs, or Regulus might have been hyperventilating. Every hair on his body stood on end, his skin crawling with the latent power of the array and the men and women around it. He needed to get out, he needed to get away, his mind was buzzing with activity he couldn't control. Regulus tried to squirm, crabwalk on his elbows out of the center.
Lucius's hands closed upon his hips, hard enough to bruise, and it was as if a circuit had closed. Regulus screamed, trying to kick out though Lucius was already positioned firmly between his legs. It felt as though his whole body was on fire, but not pain, precisely. Intensity, sensory overload-wasn't Lucius feeling any of this too? Regulus lashed out blindly, his blunt fingernails scoring bloody grooves down the man's shoulder, rising to tangle fiercely in long blonde hair.
Lucius snarled at him, seizing one of his wrists and slamming it hard to the marble floor. It didn't stop Regulus yanking the man's hair, his heels thumping uselessly at Lucius's back, his thighs. But Lucius was grasping at Regulus's hip with his free hand, teeth bared in an ugly grimace as he struggled to align their bodies. After a few blind thrusts, he drove in deep, and Regulus screamed again as the magic intensified around them, through them. Lucius immediately began to fuck him into the floor despite his thrashing.
Regulus was barely aware of the voices of his family and the others around him; all he could hear was blood rushing in his ears and the subsonic hush of magic throbbing in time with his heartbeat, or in cadence with the incantation, or counterpoint to Lucius's thrusts, or all of them, somehow simultaneously. To his numb, uncaring surprise, his cock was harder than he could ever remember it being, and that had to be the magic, too. Regulus wasn't sure at what point he stopped fighting, but all at once, as if he'd blacked out partway through, he became aware of his arms wrapped tightly around Lucius's shoulders, clinging to the man as he rode the surge of their bodies, the rising voice of the magic.
Lucius's manicured nails dug into his hips, and then Regulus was rocking forward, Lucius sitting back and up and pulling him into his lap. The boy threw his head back and groaned with the shifted angle, Lucius's length sunk deeper. His fingers smoothed light and reverent through the man's hair, and Lucius returned the favour by gouging half-moons into his flesh, lifting his hips and slamming them down hard, over and over.
The man's movements were frenzied, more animal than human. Regulus planted his feet to help drive Lucius harder and deeper, gasping through his nose and keening in the back of his throat. The air around them howled with the fury of the magic, without so much as ruffling their sweat-soaked hair. Regulus crested wave after wave of pleasure so intense it qualified as pain, levels of gratification he hadn't thought possible to reach without climaxing. And still it continued, Lucius driving into him unabated, no release in sight.
The magic reached a crescendo, and by degrees Regulus became aware of more than just Lucius and the pulse that joined them. He heard twelve voices linked in purpose, chanting layered in three-part harmony. A single, suspended note that made the air shimmer, the light from the wall sconces dimming in deference to a greater, more primal power. And as the voices fell away, one last, massive throb of magic seared through the array, into Regulus and Lucius. They screamed as one, came as one, and Regulus sobbed as the pressure of the air around them abruptly diminished.
He blacked out, but only later discovered that this was not unexpected, and that Lucius hadn't stayed conscious, either.
Regulus awoke in a bed, still naked, but at least clean. Not his own bed, and perhaps a little nicer than his, he decided as he luxuriated in the feel of cool, soft sheets against his sore and much-abused body. Lucius Malfoy's bed, he realized scant seconds later when he turned his head (slowly-somehow those muscles hurt, too) and found the man lying beside him, watching him.
This close, Lucius had a truly ridiculous number of eyelashes, and Regulus stared at them as he fumbled for something to say. Because what words could possibly be adequate when you'd just woken up from sex that was either so amazing or so awful (and probably both) that it had caused you to lose consciousness? "Did you-" he paused, horrified by the hoarse whisper that was his voice, "Did you expect it to be like that?"
Slowly, Lucius shook his head. "I suspect my father did. I believe he's seen this done before, at least." A ghost of the man's smugness touched his expression. "He was right about you panicking."
As teasing went, this was well-deserved, but Regulus couldn't stop his face going red. "I can't believe you didn't panic, if you truthfully weren't expecting it," he sputtered with more incredulity than anger. "How could you manage to just…to just carry on like that?" He wasn't terribly upset that the man had; if Regulus had managed to escape the circle and break the ritual, he was certain he would have been disowned, regardless of Lucius's opinions on the subject.
"I can only imagine, remembering the way you reacted, that the ritual affected us differently. There was nothing approaching panic for me, just the overwhelming urge to fuck you blind." Stupidly, Regulus's cock gave a half-hearted but interested twitch, and he groaned, because even his balls ached. Lucius gave him a lascivious, if tired, smile. "Not right now; I don't think I could get it up even if I wanted to. And at the moment there is nothing I want less, except maybe to not go to our reception, but unfortunately your mother has already been here to inform me that our presence is not optional." Lucius pulled a face as he sat up, his movements vaguely arthritic. Regulus would have laughed at the man for it, too, except that he was certain his body had to be twice as sore.
Lucius turned to gingerly ease into his robes, and Regulus's eyes devoured the planes of his back, his arse. Someone had mostly healed the scratches Regulus had dug, shoulders crossed in lines of fresh pink. He wondered if they would scar. "You have to make this appearance," Lucius told him without turning to check his position. "After that, you can stay in bed for days if you want to." The man's tone spoke of just how much he relished that idea. "I will slip you all the champagne you can drink, and you can sit in a corner without moving, if only you come along quietly."
It was a plan of many virtues, not the least of which being the simple fact he wouldn't have to move. However, it would make Lucius look good to be circulating among their guests while Regulus babied himself, and that was all he needed to form an objection. His muscles screamed for mercy as he crawled from the bed, and Lucius raised an eyebrow as he retrieved his robes and cringed into them, fingers numbly working the toggles.
"I will come along quietly, and you can certainly feed me as much champagne as you want." Regulus walked up to Lucius, pressed close though every step was agony from the soles of his feet all the way up his frame. "But if you can mingle, I can mingle, and isn't it customary for the married couple to have a first dance?" He was getting ahead of himself because of course there was no way in hell he would be able to dance without vast amounts of pain and stiffness.
Lucius rolled his eyes. "I cannot even imagine what your parents' marriage must be like," he muttered. Then, louder: "I refuse to dance with you, but we can stay together if you are so concerned I'll show you up in front of family." A snort, and Lucius grabbed one of Regulus's hands, interlaced their fingers, and then squeezed until it hurt-which honestly wasn't very hard at all.
"These people, our families…their opinions are nearly inconsequential. I realize that until very recently you were the spare, of barely any status at all. But your situation is changed, and you need to realize that now, either of us could do almost anything we want, with no repercussions from family. But we won't, because there is someone whose opinion has far greater import than Abraxas Malfoy's or Walburga Black's.
"My life is joined to yours now," Lucius purred softly. "And that means you had better start thinking about the people who actually matter: you, and me, and most especially Lord Voldemort."
Next Part