In the Dead Room
In the Dead Room
Rating: R.
Pairing: Sirius/Lucius.
Warning: bondage, corsets, grudge-fucking, sex.
Sirius thought of that place as 'the dead room.' It had once been the library, and was still shaped to that purpose. It was nearly three stories high, lined with dust-covered ebony bookcases, most of which lay vacant. Verdigris spotted and slimed the brass sliding ladders, so that they looked sick and sparking with obscene electricity. One corner of the room was broken out, near the jagged glass of what was left of the window. Nothing could be seen through either hole or filthy glass except a charcoal sky, starless.
There were still old manacles dangling from heavy chains on some of the ladders. Sirius could not remember their original purpose. All that lay on the shelves now was rubbish: bits of animal skins, dark artifacts and gris-gris that had served their purpose and now were left forgotten, crawling on the lost shelves like dying claws. Waterlogged rotten books. Broken things that someone had hidden, or old mad Kreacher had tried to save.
The smell of the place was thick and ugly, but Sirius had breathed it enough not to notice its fetid stink. What was in his nostrils was the scent of Lucius Malfoy. A deep clove scent, like ambergris, mingled with something flowery near where the hair danced across the naked curve of his back.
Lucius Malfoy, wrists bound over his head, so that the long lines of his pale body gleamed in the dark. His grey eyes wide and fierce with all the uncivilized violence of a battlefield. The black strap of the gag marred his mouth, reddened the skin, but Sirius didn't need to hear his serpent's tongue. His eyes were all that was needed.
The air was cold with late autumn. Sirius could feel the wind through the broken corner of the room, and could see the Jack-Frost-kisses that pinked Lucius' nearly translucent skin. He ran his palm along the sweep of a shoulder too broad for the man's slenderness, and felt goosebumps under his hand.
"Cold," he said distantly, "We are… cold. But all fire underneath."
He paused, turned so that his long hair slid over his own shoulder. The sky reflected blue in it like obsidian. Obsidian cuts more deeply than steel.
"I suppose you think this is not like me," he said. His voice was calm, level, but there was a biting edge beneath it that marked the edge of the abyss of the Black instability. "Well, I'm sick of all of it. Sick of trying to make good, sick of listening to you and people like you. Who think they possess all the wisdom of the world in their empty little heads." He reached out and caught a handful of Lucius' hair, near the temple, and jerked his head to the side.
Eyes met, grey and grey, equally fierce and furious and full of dark abandon.
"You're all dead to me," Sirius said, and he crushed Lucius' lips under his, feeling the leather of the gag beneath his teeth, the dull fire of a kiss so brutal it pressed lips to teeth and cut tongue. Deep, sensuous fire. "Dead to me, lover."
He turned away. A gust of wind caught the edges of his long hair. It swung along his shoulder-blade. "Can you breathe?" He asked. "I hope it hurts like hell. He's dead now. We never spared a thought for him, we neither of us did. I know it was easy for you."
There was no sound, muffled or otherwise. Lucius hadn't tried to answer. Sirius turned and saw him, standing tall and straight as a sword-blade. Impatient, furious, his eyes glittering. His mouth was smeared red. The white embroidered corset bit deep into his slender chest, giving him the slim figure of a girl, androgynous and utterly beautiful.
That creamy skin, that long hair like ice spun out into threads, so much it should have melted against the man's heat. Those who said he was cold did not understand. Lucius burned. It must have been so easy for him.
Sirius let out a low sound, between a moan and a growl, and shook his head fast until the shadows dashed before his face. "James showed me a poem once. Fragoletta. Thou hast a serpent in thine hair, in all the curls that close and cling; And ah! Thy breast-flower! Ah love, thy mouth too fair to kiss and sting!"
Lucius lowered his knee, so that the crinoline's silk slid back over his taut-muscled thigh, and showed what was stirring beneath the white to stunning effect. There was nothing feminine about it. It made Sirius' mouth dry.
He crossed the room in long whispering strides. He ripped the gag free from Lucius' mouth and kissed it fiercely, unafraid of the sting. Lucius kissed him back, his lips and tongue so knowing that a scream of frustration clawed its way up Sirius' throat to mingle in the kiss.
"How do you do this to me?"
Lucius said, "You do it to yourself. Now you have me here, dressed for your fantasies. Do you plan to bore me to death with your accusations and your Muggle poetry? Do what you came here to do."
Sirius laughed. Lucius still tingled on his lips. His stomach spun in sick circles, but still he couldn't bring himself to just walk away. Couldn't bring himself to call that cold bluff. He knew it wasn't a bluff.
The two of them, like light and darkness. Only they had the strength to reflect each other: to entice and to repel with simultaneous force, so that sex was like being stretched and torn into an infinity of shadows.
Sirius dropped to his knees, eyes hot with hate and desire, and pushed the white silk crinoline up over Lucius' perfect legs, the toned heaven of the pale thighs, and that treasure between. He leaned in and took Lucius' penis in his mouth. The taste of him, which was like that ambergris scent: dark and deep and musky, filled his mouth. He sucked it roughly, with all his hate and passion, with all the rough swirls of his hot tongue that rolled the head against his upper teeth, all the gentle rakes of teeth over the shaft, and all the dull moving forward and back until Lucius began to make strained, throaty noises, harsh in the dimness.
Ever clearer, ever… as Sirius' rough administrations faded to sweet suction, just a hint of teeth against the slit. The taste was filling him.
At that rough blast of pain-pleasure, Lucius hissed out, "Whore!" And then came in a heated rush. Sirius pulled back and spat it over the crinoline, as the silk slid back down past Lucius' knees.
Sirius stood then, glaring, and wiped his mouth with his knuckles. He kissed Lucius with bruising force, but then pulled back, bestowing similar marks upon the line of Lucius' throat, until at the base of it he bared his teeth and bit, hard and seductive, until he could feel that the red rush of blood was so near that only a bit more pressure would bring it… and he brought it, and tasted the shallow iron on his tongue.
"You are," Lucius said, between gasps for breath, "such a whore."
"I'm ready now." Sirius voice was a bit of darkness, a deadly cut in the old air. His hands slid down over the surface of the corset, feeling the rough edges of the embroidery, the long hard pressure of the stays, the smoothness of satin until it ended and he stroked the softer smoothness of skin. He curled both hands under Lucius' thighs and lifted them, so that for a moment Lucius hung, full from his wrists. Lucius set his jaw and glared as if his eyes could transfer the sudden pain to Sirius.
Sirius let the legs wrap around him, took the weight easily upon his muscular frame. He opened his robe in front, and arched, so that Lucius hung almost perpendicular in the chains, and thrust inside him with a brutal growl.
"Burn," said Lucius softly, his voice almost a caress, heated pillow talk that warmed and deepened as Sirius thrust inside him, deeper and deeper, swinging the shadows of the manacles and the two men. "I'll see you burn. I'll see you crawl and twitch upon the ground like an ant being burned to death. I'll see you scream for me."
Sirius didn't answer, only pounded into him with all his force, until he could feel the slickness around him, the muscles tightening around him in a harsh rhythm- Lucius' thighs desperate to squeeze a little pain from him in return.
His legs almost locked, almost broke under him when they came, when all the passion bled itself into an inferno orgasm that swept the room with two fierce howls, like Dark Creatures readying themselves for the kill. A bit of blood dripped down from the corner of Lucius' chin, where he had bitten himself.
Sirius, almost unable to breathe, let the man down slowly and searched the bookshelves until he found a scrap of cloth. It had once been enchanted for one purpose or another, but he couldn't feel the lingering presence of a spell, so he used it to wipe the blood from Lucius' mouth, and the aftermath of sex from both of them.
He tossed it in a corner where it could burn for all he cared.
Lucius sagged in his chains and stared at him. "Now what? You will not dare let me go?"
"I will, once I'm gone." Sirius turned to the open patch of sky. "I don't care how long you stay here. I call this the dead room. The oubliette. Is that a star?"
Lucius turned. Silk whispered and stays creaked. "Venus, the Morning Star," he said coldly, "It's a planet."
"Reflected light," Sirius said. The final biting jest. "Just like you."
As he opened the door, Lucius replied, "It's better than being nothing, Black. That's what darkness is."
Rating: R.
Pairing: Sirius/Lucius.
Warning: bondage, corsets, grudge-fucking, sex.
Sirius thought of that place as 'the dead room.' It had once been the library, and was still shaped to that purpose. It was nearly three stories high, lined with dust-covered ebony bookcases, most of which lay vacant. Verdigris spotted and slimed the brass sliding ladders, so that they looked sick and sparking with obscene electricity. One corner of the room was broken out, near the jagged glass of what was left of the window. Nothing could be seen through either hole or filthy glass except a charcoal sky, starless.
There were still old manacles dangling from heavy chains on some of the ladders. Sirius could not remember their original purpose. All that lay on the shelves now was rubbish: bits of animal skins, dark artifacts and gris-gris that had served their purpose and now were left forgotten, crawling on the lost shelves like dying claws. Waterlogged rotten books. Broken things that someone had hidden, or old mad Kreacher had tried to save.
The smell of the place was thick and ugly, but Sirius had breathed it enough not to notice its fetid stink. What was in his nostrils was the scent of Lucius Malfoy. A deep clove scent, like ambergris, mingled with something flowery near where the hair danced across the naked curve of his back.
Lucius Malfoy, wrists bound over his head, so that the long lines of his pale body gleamed in the dark. His grey eyes wide and fierce with all the uncivilized violence of a battlefield. The black strap of the gag marred his mouth, reddened the skin, but Sirius didn't need to hear his serpent's tongue. His eyes were all that was needed.
The air was cold with late autumn. Sirius could feel the wind through the broken corner of the room, and could see the Jack-Frost-kisses that pinked Lucius' nearly translucent skin. He ran his palm along the sweep of a shoulder too broad for the man's slenderness, and felt goosebumps under his hand.
"Cold," he said distantly, "We are… cold. But all fire underneath."
He paused, turned so that his long hair slid over his own shoulder. The sky reflected blue in it like obsidian. Obsidian cuts more deeply than steel.
"I suppose you think this is not like me," he said. His voice was calm, level, but there was a biting edge beneath it that marked the edge of the abyss of the Black instability. "Well, I'm sick of all of it. Sick of trying to make good, sick of listening to you and people like you. Who think they possess all the wisdom of the world in their empty little heads." He reached out and caught a handful of Lucius' hair, near the temple, and jerked his head to the side.
Eyes met, grey and grey, equally fierce and furious and full of dark abandon.
"You're all dead to me," Sirius said, and he crushed Lucius' lips under his, feeling the leather of the gag beneath his teeth, the dull fire of a kiss so brutal it pressed lips to teeth and cut tongue. Deep, sensuous fire. "Dead to me, lover."
He turned away. A gust of wind caught the edges of his long hair. It swung along his shoulder-blade. "Can you breathe?" He asked. "I hope it hurts like hell. He's dead now. We never spared a thought for him, we neither of us did. I know it was easy for you."
There was no sound, muffled or otherwise. Lucius hadn't tried to answer. Sirius turned and saw him, standing tall and straight as a sword-blade. Impatient, furious, his eyes glittering. His mouth was smeared red. The white embroidered corset bit deep into his slender chest, giving him the slim figure of a girl, androgynous and utterly beautiful.
That creamy skin, that long hair like ice spun out into threads, so much it should have melted against the man's heat. Those who said he was cold did not understand. Lucius burned. It must have been so easy for him.
Sirius let out a low sound, between a moan and a growl, and shook his head fast until the shadows dashed before his face. "James showed me a poem once. Fragoletta. Thou hast a serpent in thine hair, in all the curls that close and cling; And ah! Thy breast-flower! Ah love, thy mouth too fair to kiss and sting!"
Lucius lowered his knee, so that the crinoline's silk slid back over his taut-muscled thigh, and showed what was stirring beneath the white to stunning effect. There was nothing feminine about it. It made Sirius' mouth dry.
He crossed the room in long whispering strides. He ripped the gag free from Lucius' mouth and kissed it fiercely, unafraid of the sting. Lucius kissed him back, his lips and tongue so knowing that a scream of frustration clawed its way up Sirius' throat to mingle in the kiss.
"How do you do this to me?"
Lucius said, "You do it to yourself. Now you have me here, dressed for your fantasies. Do you plan to bore me to death with your accusations and your Muggle poetry? Do what you came here to do."
Sirius laughed. Lucius still tingled on his lips. His stomach spun in sick circles, but still he couldn't bring himself to just walk away. Couldn't bring himself to call that cold bluff. He knew it wasn't a bluff.
The two of them, like light and darkness. Only they had the strength to reflect each other: to entice and to repel with simultaneous force, so that sex was like being stretched and torn into an infinity of shadows.
Sirius dropped to his knees, eyes hot with hate and desire, and pushed the white silk crinoline up over Lucius' perfect legs, the toned heaven of the pale thighs, and that treasure between. He leaned in and took Lucius' penis in his mouth. The taste of him, which was like that ambergris scent: dark and deep and musky, filled his mouth. He sucked it roughly, with all his hate and passion, with all the rough swirls of his hot tongue that rolled the head against his upper teeth, all the gentle rakes of teeth over the shaft, and all the dull moving forward and back until Lucius began to make strained, throaty noises, harsh in the dimness.
Ever clearer, ever… as Sirius' rough administrations faded to sweet suction, just a hint of teeth against the slit. The taste was filling him.
At that rough blast of pain-pleasure, Lucius hissed out, "Whore!" And then came in a heated rush. Sirius pulled back and spat it over the crinoline, as the silk slid back down past Lucius' knees.
Sirius stood then, glaring, and wiped his mouth with his knuckles. He kissed Lucius with bruising force, but then pulled back, bestowing similar marks upon the line of Lucius' throat, until at the base of it he bared his teeth and bit, hard and seductive, until he could feel that the red rush of blood was so near that only a bit more pressure would bring it… and he brought it, and tasted the shallow iron on his tongue.
"You are," Lucius said, between gasps for breath, "such a whore."
"I'm ready now." Sirius voice was a bit of darkness, a deadly cut in the old air. His hands slid down over the surface of the corset, feeling the rough edges of the embroidery, the long hard pressure of the stays, the smoothness of satin until it ended and he stroked the softer smoothness of skin. He curled both hands under Lucius' thighs and lifted them, so that for a moment Lucius hung, full from his wrists. Lucius set his jaw and glared as if his eyes could transfer the sudden pain to Sirius.
Sirius let the legs wrap around him, took the weight easily upon his muscular frame. He opened his robe in front, and arched, so that Lucius hung almost perpendicular in the chains, and thrust inside him with a brutal growl.
"Burn," said Lucius softly, his voice almost a caress, heated pillow talk that warmed and deepened as Sirius thrust inside him, deeper and deeper, swinging the shadows of the manacles and the two men. "I'll see you burn. I'll see you crawl and twitch upon the ground like an ant being burned to death. I'll see you scream for me."
Sirius didn't answer, only pounded into him with all his force, until he could feel the slickness around him, the muscles tightening around him in a harsh rhythm- Lucius' thighs desperate to squeeze a little pain from him in return.
His legs almost locked, almost broke under him when they came, when all the passion bled itself into an inferno orgasm that swept the room with two fierce howls, like Dark Creatures readying themselves for the kill. A bit of blood dripped down from the corner of Lucius' chin, where he had bitten himself.
Sirius, almost unable to breathe, let the man down slowly and searched the bookshelves until he found a scrap of cloth. It had once been enchanted for one purpose or another, but he couldn't feel the lingering presence of a spell, so he used it to wipe the blood from Lucius' mouth, and the aftermath of sex from both of them.
He tossed it in a corner where it could burn for all he cared.
Lucius sagged in his chains and stared at him. "Now what? You will not dare let me go?"
"I will, once I'm gone." Sirius turned to the open patch of sky. "I don't care how long you stay here. I call this the dead room. The oubliette. Is that a star?"
Lucius turned. Silk whispered and stays creaked. "Venus, the Morning Star," he said coldly, "It's a planet."
"Reflected light," Sirius said. The final biting jest. "Just like you."
As he opened the door, Lucius replied, "It's better than being nothing, Black. That's what darkness is."