Title: When Lucius Met Gerry
Author: iamisaac
Characters Lucius/Harry, past Draco/Harry
Rating: NC17
Warning: EWE, dub-con
Theme/Kinkssex shows
Word Count: ~4900
Summary: Harry is showing his talent on the stage; Lucius is inclined to test his skills in person.
Author's notes: Whilst I usually try not to do this, this story's written from the viewpoint of both men. There's always a * between one viewpoint and the next, though, so it shouldn't change mid-scene. That's the theory ;) And… erm… this probably won’t surprise anyone who’ve read my stuff, but these are a couple of really fucked up people – especially Harry. Many thanks to lee_west, who did a fantastic job checking that I really DID keep my viewpoints straight, as well as doing her usual fab beta-ing.



“You like the show? You like the show, sir, you can have a private show. My boys are always willing.”

Lucius Malfoy raised an eyebrow. The image returned of the two young men he had just seen, naked and locked in what was to all appearances a passionate embrace, their cocks erect and rubbing against each other's. He had felt his own erection stirring. Especially considering who one of the men was. Potter, war-hero, had become Potter, sex worker. Whoever would have thought? When Lucius had heard the rumour, he had found it difficult to believe; he'd come here on the chance that there might be something in it, but with no great hopes. But – this time, at least – it seemed that rumour did not lie.

“The dark-haired boy,” he said abruptly. “Who is he?”

“You want Gerry?” The convenor, Brice, raised his own eyebrows. There had been, of late, a constant flow of strangely dressed men wanting Gerry. Unfortunate, since this particular boy (despite his manager's claim) was most resistant to private encounters, no matter how much money he was offered. Brice, however, never ceased to hope that he might persuade him round.


“Oh, he calls himself Gerry, does he?” Lucius asked. “Yes, my good man, I think you might say that I want Gerry.”

“I will see.”

The note of doubt in the manager's voice did not escape Lucius. He gave a little smile, jingling coins in the pocket of his robe as extra incentive for the man. “Tell him Lucius Malfoy would be most grateful for his presence.”

“Yes.” The man seemed to give himself a little shake. “I will tell him your desire is most great.” He turned and left the room.

*

“Malfoy?” Harry's voice was disbelieving. “Lucius Malfoy wants to see me?”

“You know him? You know this man, Gerry?”

Know Lucius Malfoy? Oh, Harry knew him all right. Knew him for the man who had separated him from his love with ruthless determination; knew him for a wizard who would stick at nothing, ever, to prevent his son from entering a relationship with another man – especially when that 'other man' was no other than Harry Potter. Ron and Hermione had been less than sympathetic about his plight, Ron particularly so since Harry had ditched his sister because of what Ron considered a crazy obsession with Draco. When things, thanks to Lucius, had gone so spectacularly wrong, Harry had felt isolated by his sense of loss. He had turned away from his erstwhile friends and sought forgetfulness in any possible place. Alcohol-fuelled trips to sex shows had turned from a habit into an obsession, and from thence into a debt that could not be paid – not until the manager had given his other proposal. And 'why not?' Harry had thought. After all, he had nothing left to lose. The changed name had been the only sop Harry had offered his conscience. What he did under the name of Harry Potter would still become front page news; Gerry Dragon was someone else, was what he had become.

And now Lucius Malfoy was here, at the club. Demanding to see him. Harry had refused to meet with any other wizard who had asked for him, but Lucius... Yes, he would see Lucius. Lucius might see what he'd done to his son's lover, might revel in his own glory. Harry had no self-respect left. Let Lucius do his worst.

*

The door opened, and Lucius looked around.

“Why,” he drawled, “'Gerry,' is it not?” His eyes roved over the familiar figure; the man he had so ruthlessly removed from his family's life. The boy's face was older than his years. Lucius was no stranger to substance abuse and its effect: Harry's face showed all the well-known signs.

“What do you care?”

Oh. The boy still had a trace of spirit, then, appearances to the contrary. “Oh! Are you hurt, Gerry? Are you still aching with your unutterable passion for my son? How very touching.” Lucius sat languidly back in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. “He's married now, you know – I'm sure you read about it in the Prophet - well, except that you appear to have 'left' the wizarding world. Returning to your Muggle roots?”

“My parents were wizards,” Harry snarled. “Or had you forgotten?”

Lucius idly ran the soft edge of his robe through his fingers. “Au contraire. Your mother was a Mudblood witch. Good in bed, of course – I expect that is where you get your new-found talent from – but not of wizarding family.”

“My mother...”

“... was a highly skilled slut.” Lucius smiled. “Isn't it fascinating how history repeats itself? Think of it: I paid once for your mother's 'services' and now I've paid for yours. I am most intrigued as to how your talents will measure up. I feel sure you must have some skill: there really is no other reason to explain my son's passing passion for you.”

“Draco loved me.” Harry's voice rose. “Draco loved me, and my mother was a better person than you will ever be. As to your other suggestion, there is no way in this world that I'd sleep with you.”

“Oh, not sleep; there is no need for me to take my rest as well as my pleasure with you. I merely intend to fuck you,” Lucius said placidly.


“The only fucking you're going to do is right off.”

Harry turned to the door, which slammed in front of him. Lucius sighed.

“You never learn, do you? One of us in this room has a wand and the other doesn't. Really, 'Gerry', there are just two choices. We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. Your choice.”

*

Harry had not missed his wand in the time he'd spent back as a Muggle. After years when he'd been forced to carry it everywhere with him as he waited for the next attempt on his life, the fact that he could now walk around freely without the protection of magic was vaguely satisfying. Until, that was, Lucius Malfoy had (once more) turned his wand on him, and Harry found himself utterly unprotected.

“Are you going to kill me, Malfoy?” he demanded.

Lucius rolled his eyes. “You are so predictable in your questions always, Potter. No, I have no intention of killing you: you're doing such a good job of it yourself.”

Harry froze. “What do you mean?”

“You smell of alcohol, you look ten years older than you really are, and you're selling sex. My dear 'Gerry', I can't imagine what I mean.”


“Get out.” It was Malfoy's fault he was like this, Malfoy's and no other's. Was he not content in ruining Harry's life? Did he have to come and rub his nose in it as well?

“I haven't had what I paid for yet,” Malfoy explained. “Or perhaps I should say 'who'.”

Harry glanced around the room, looking for a way out. The obvious sort did not appear, but Harry knew from past experience that there was more than one way to escape a difficult situation. He walked over to a loaded tray next to the bed and poured himself a large tumbler of whiskey.

“You’re paying for this, too, I expect,” he said, gulping down nearly half the contents in one mouthful. “It’s expensive, this one, but that’s okay – it gets you drunk as well as the cheap types. And as you correctly pointed out, I should know.” He tossed back the rest of the contents of the glass and refilled it liberally. “Cheers.”

*

Lucius frowned. It was a neat trick of the boy’s, he had to acknowledge. If he were drunk enough, he wouldn’t remember this evening, couldn’t be harmed by it. A coward’s escape, perhaps, but a real one.

“I pay,” he said, glancing at the glass in Harry’s hand, “and I say enough of the preliminaries. You’re bought and paid for, ‘Gerry’ – and I want my money’s worth.”

Harry shrugged. “What the hell?” he said, and Lucius watched as he stripped his shirt off, leaving him naked from the waist up. “After all,” Harry continued, “it’s nothing you’ve not seen before, is it?”

Lucius looked him up and down dismissively. “Hardly. You were, after all, prepared to display your… attributes in front of hundreds: your unwillingness to undress in private seems a little ironic in the circumstances.”

“You enjoyed the show?” Harry’s tone was self-mocking. He took another quick swig of whiskey. “‘You like the show, sir, you’ll like my private show even better.’” His imitation of Brice, the manager, was almost unnervingly accurate.

“I look forward to it,” Lucius said dryly.

*

“Of course,” Harry said, shedding his trousers with brisk efficiency, “it takes me more by surprise that the Great Lucius Malfoy has descended to paying for sex. Is Narcissa not willing to put out for you any more? Can’t say I blame her: maybe you should try paying her an appearance fee, see if it works for her.”

He was annoyed when Malfoy ignored his words, instead studying Harry’s body with a cold interest, looking him up and down as if to assess his worth. Harry had got used to the stage shows, buoying himself up with alcohol beforehand and telling himself that he was just an actor like any other. It wasn’t Shakespeare, but the whole point was to put on a show, and he felt he did it well enough. But here – oh, here it was a whole different game (just as it always had been with Lucius Malfoy). By blanking out Harry’s insults as if they had never happened, by the steely gaze being turned on his anatomy – Malfoy turned Harry from an actor – from a person – into a mere object, a thing.

“Turn around,” Lucius ordered, continuing his inspection. “I wish to see my purchase properly.”

Harry could feel the first effects of the whiskey hitting him; he lurched slightly as he moved, the drink slopping out of the glass. “Oops.”

Malfoy’s lips curled at the corner, in an unmistakeable sneer. “Put the drink down, Potter – if you can.”

Harry ambled back to the table and set the glass down, flinging himself across the bed in a studiedly sexual position, arms behind his head, one leg bent at the knee, and the other straight, leaving his cock exposed and semi-hard.

“Like what you see, Malfoy? Were you jealous of Draco – is that what it is? You had to get me away from there before you were taken over by primal lust. And now you’ve sought me out for a sleazy fuck in a sex club. Mm, I like your style. So… classy.”

“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” snapped Lucius, showing the first sign of anger.


Harry smiled. There was little he could do about the situation, but it was pleasant to know that some of his pin-pricks were hitting home. And, of course, he had the one last bombshell to throw – but it could wait, for now…

*

“How long since you’ve been fucked, Potter?”

Lucius had lost control for a moment, but it was quickly restored. This was not Potter-the-darling-of-the-wizarding-world; ‘Gerry’ had no resource of any sort, save that of his body. Lucius stood up and walked to the edge of the bed, looking down at Harry, who had moved one hand down from beside his head and was idly stroking his cock with a steady motion.

“Can’t remember,” Harry said, continuing his steady masturbation. “Yesterday, I think. The day before was the one with three different guys, I believe, but it might have been the other way around.” He glanced at Lucius, a small smirk on his face. “It’s difficult to remember, you understand, with so much attention. Not today – Brice doesn’t like us to have sex before a show; says it ruins the feeling. Probably frightened we couldn’t get it up again for the performance. Afterwards, though, we can sleep with who we like, so long as Brice gets paid his cut. He’s generous that way.”

“And so are you, it seems,” Lucius said smoothly. “With your body, I mean. It just goes to show, does it not? Money really can buy everything, despite what you told me a couple of years ago.”

He watched as Harry’s movements stilled;could see the tension ripple through the boy’s muscles.

“Is that what this is?” Harry demanded. “You couldn’t take the fact that you couldn’t bribe me to leave Draco?”

“I would hardly say bribe,” said Lucius, sitting on the edge of the bed and beginning to unfasten his robes in leisurely fashion. “It was merely an offer of financial help to get you started somewhere away from my son. As I recall,” he continued, smiling coldly at Harry, “you said you had enough money that you didn’t need to touch mine. How things change! My money is beginning to look quite attractive, is it not?”

“I’m not fucking you for your body, that’s for sure.” There was a slight slur in Harry’s words now; it was evident that the glass and more of whiskey that he had just consumed had not been his first of the night.

“Filthy lucre.” Lucius sighed. “Such a pity it took you so long to see the attraction. Everyone does, eventually.”

*

Harry had an uneasy feeling he’d got the worst of the exchange; a suspicion made worse by the slight fuzziness of his brain. Usually he revelled in the hazy feeling that whiskey gave him: it gave everything a sense of unreality, so he could tell himself that none of this was real. Lucius Malfoy was too real to be blotted out like that, and Harry found himself regretting the dimming of his faculties. Especially when his careless claim of recent sexual activity was… not entirely accurate. Harry had a vague memory of a quick wank in the shower recently (the club provided washing facilities for staff: cleanliness was next to sexiness in Brice’s assessment), but he could hardly recall the last time he’d had sex with another man.

Malfoy was shrugging off his robe now, and although there must be – what? Harry tried to calculate. - twenty-five years between them, at least, Lucius was still an undeniably attractive man. Worse, he had many similarities with Draco. The pain of their break up was still strong: alcohol might blunt the edge of the misery, but even that could not dispel it entirely.

“Can we get on with it?” he asked.

“So romantic,” Malfoy mocked.

“Oh, sorry,” Harry shot back. “Did you want me to seduce you? Do the oh-so-innocent younger man act? I can do that if you want.” He looked down, away from Malfoy, sliding one hand across the bed to the other man. “May I…” he began, his voice parodying shyness, “would you mind if I held your hand?” His fingertips brushed against Lucius’s leg, and he jerked his hand back a little. “Oh, oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to touch you there.”

Malfoy turned around to face him and grabbed Harry’s wrist in a firm grip.

“Enough,” he said, the robe falling entirely away to leave him almost as naked as Harry was. “For once in your life, Potter, you’ll take orders. I’ve paid for you, and I’m going to have you.”

Harry gave him an innocent green look. “I was only trying to please, sir,” the 'sir' a deliberate irony that was lost on neither of them. “How do you desire me?”

*

Potter’s tricks might be irritating, Lucius mused, but they spoke of an interesting last spot of spirit. It would make the taking of him even more pleasurable, a veritable challenge.

“Let’s start with the basics, shall we?” he drawled. “Come here.” Harry slid lazily across the bed so that he was next to Lucius, and Lucius smiled slightly. “On the floor, boy. Between my legs.”

Harry rolled his eyes and tumbled off the bed with a clumsy movement. “Let me guess, blow job time, yeah?”

“Shortly, I promise.” Lucius’s smile became broader. “How anxious you are for me. But no, that is not where we start. We start with a quick reminder of who’s paying, and therefore who’s in charge.”

“And?”

“Kiss my feet.” Lucius bent down and removed his socks, the final garments either of them were wearing.

“What?” Harry straightened up. “That’s not part of the bargain.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “I pay, I choose. The foot can be an extremely erogenous zone, you know.”

He knew, and Harry knew - he knew that Harry knew - that the erotic potential of the feet was not foremost in his head. As gestures of submission went, this was of the highest nature. He watched Harry dig his fingernails into his palms, watched him glance up at his face and then down, at his feet. Saw the dilemma chase across Potter’s face, before, with a small sigh, the boy knelt down and pressed his mouth to each foot in turn. He put his fingers through Harry’s hair and dragged his head up from the second foot.


“Happy?” Harry demanded.

“Now, you can proceed in what is apparently your normal fashion,” Lucius said coolly.

“In other words,” Harry slurred, “suck your cock.”

“If that is how you choose to phrase it.”

*

He might not have done this for a while, but he’d done it all too many times in the past. On stage, the blow job was simulated (as so much of the sex show scene turned out to be), not real. But when Harry had first lost himself in his grief for Draco, he’d had plenty of casual sex in his attempts to forget him – many times paying for the ‘privilege’, as Malfoy was doing now. It had meant nothing, just as (Harry told himself fiercely) this meant nothing. If Malfoy wanted him to kiss his feet – hell, if he wanted Harry to bow down before him, and didn’t even bother to claim a sexual motive, Harry’d do it. What did he care? What did it matter, really, in the end?

He started with a kiss on the very tip of Malfoy’s cock. A teaser, if you like. Then, his hands cupping Malfoy’s balls, he mouthed his way up one side of his cock and down the other. He rubbed his head against Lucius’s thigh as his tongue peeped out from between his lips to encircle the older man’s prick once more. Malfoy was getting harder by the second; Harry wasn’t sure whether he was getting off on the power, on the thought that Famous Harry Potter was kneeling at his feet, or whether it was the pleasure of having another man’s mouth around his cock. And that, again, was something that didn’t matter. What did Harry care? A few more glasses of whiskey before bed and it’d be as if this evening had never happened.

His licks became firmer; he bent his head down to take Lucius right into his mouth – just the tip of his prick at first, but with each motion his mouth closed over more of the man’s hard cock, until the head hit the back of his throat, and he heard Lucius give a hiss of pleasure. He moved faster, harder, more until Malfoy’s breathing had become ragged, and he was unable to resist the temptation to thrust forward into Harry’s mouth, over and over. Harry thought for a second that the man was on the edge of coming, but instead of the next – which might, perhaps, have been the ultimate – thrust, he found Malfoy’s hand back in his hair, yanking him away.

*

“Well,” said Lucius, catching his breathing, “what a beautiful whore you make.” He leaned down and cupped Harry’s chin under his hand. “So talented. I begin, perhaps, to see what my son saw in you.” He sat up again, letting go of him, and indicated the bed. “Show me more.”

Harry stumbled onto the bed and lay there, passive, waiting for Lucius to instruct him. It seemed that even the mention of Draco could not now penetrate the fog of his alcoholic indulgence. Damn the boy. Nevertheless, Lucius would take full payment for the cash he had handed out (disgusting Muggle coins that they had been). Potter would writhe and beg for him before they were done. Let him try and forget that in the morning. He ran gentle, suggestive fingers down the insides of Potter’s thighs, coming close but never touching the prick which bobbed and stiffened between them. With his left hand, he reached further up the boy’s body, stroking his chest, tugging gently at his nipples, then sliding down over the firm skin of his belly. Harry arched into the touch, and Lucius was not slow to notice it. Perhaps the dulling of his mind by alcohol made his body more eager that it might otherwise have been. He was young, of course, but with the shows every night, and the constant run of partners… Lucius would have expected him to be slower to react. Still, he was not complaining.

“You like being touched, don’t you?” he murmured.

Harry’s eyes were shut and he did not speak, but his body was reply enough, veritably shouting the answer aloud. Lucius stroked further up his thighs, and he bent over to nip Potter’s ear between his teeth.

“You want this, don’t you?”

*

“You want this, don’t you?”

Lucius’s words shot through Harry’s mind as if they’d been injected. He had been lying supine, enjoying the feeling of another man’s hands on him. Yes, he did this in the sex show every night, but all the men knew where they stood with that. It was work, not play. But a man alone with him in a room… It had been so long since he’d felt this, the unwatched erotic, where every move was not calibrated to the nth degree. He’d been on the point of groaning between Lucius’s hands on his thighs, his mouth against his ear. And then…

This was Lucius Malfoy.

The man who’d ruined his life. Who’d ruthlessly, carelessly, taken Draco away. Who had been responsible for Harry treading this path of alcohol and meaningless sex.

“You bastard,” he said.

“And yet you want me.”

It was humiliatingly true. Harry’s mind could tell him whatever it wanted, but his body was still yearning for Malfoy’s touch, his prick throbbing with unsated desire. He could tell himself that anyone – anyone – would have brought this response from him, that he was suffering from the effects of his recent celibacy, but inside he knew it was not true. He knew that this was Malfoy, Lucius Bastard Malfoy, and he’d do anything to be fucked by him. Anything.

“Yes,” he whispered.

*

Lucius smiled. He’d barely started touching the boy and already he could not help but admit his need. Of course, the boy must be an addict – surely nothing else could explain his working here – but still. It was pleasant to know that one still had the talent.

“You want me to touch you? To wrap my fingers around your cock and slide them up and down?”

He placed his fingers temptingly across Potter’s erection, not holding, just suggesting – promising – the possibility of more.

“Oh God, yes.”

Had Potter been like this with Draco? So needy, so… so pliable, wanting, yielding? Perhaps it was not surprising that his son had been so infatuated. There was something wanton about Potter, even to the way he asked for more, with both his body and his voice.

“Like this?”

Lucius murmured a spell and his fingers were slick with lubrication. As he grasped Harry, the boy moaned aloud, arching with increasing desperation into his hand. Harry’s eyes closed, and his arms reached out for him, pulling him down so that Lucius lay across his partner, his own prick nudging into Harry’s hip as he thought about what he’d be doing later, burying himself in Potter’s arse while the boy begged and pleaded for him.

*

He was good, Lucius was good – better than any partner Harry’d had for a while. He tried to shut out the thought that the last who had brought him so quickly to this state of ecstasy had been Draco. Draco.

“Draco,” he cried, thrusting his hips forward into Lucius’s touch. “Draco, my dragon.”

Malfoy’s fingers clasped harder, breaking the boundary between pleasure and pain.

“No,” he hissed. “No. Not Draco. You will regret the day you ever seduced my son.”

Harry laughed bitterly. “He seduced me, you mean.” He was drunk on a mixture of alcohol and sex, too far gone to care what he said. His eyes opened, and he looked straight at Lucius. “Yeah, Malfoy, did you miss that bit in the story? The part where Draco picked me up at the gay bar and dragged me home with him?”

“You lie.”

Harry sighed, his eyes shutting again. “Whatever. S’not like it matters now, is it?”

“You lie,” said Malfoy coldly and emphatically, the ice in his tone belying the heat of his hands as he slipped a lubricated finger in Harry’s anus, stretching him, preparing him for fucking.

Harry, groaning and needy, found the point of oblivion that utter drunkenness had never reached; the point at which he simply did not care whether what he said was truth or lies – even Draco didn’t matter so long as Lucius would just fuck him hard and fast and now - now! He gave a whimper of pure desire, his head rolling back as he begged with his body to be taken.

“Admit that you lie.” Lucius was ruthless and determined, Harry desperate and careless.

“Yes, yes, whatever you want,” he mumbled.

*

“Whatever you want…”

Lucius hadn’t thought that the day would come when Famous Harry Potter would writhe on the bedclothes beneath him, so torn apart by lust that he would do anything to have Lucius fuck him. It was a moment to savour, a moment to make his own cock become as hard as if it were made of granite, almost painfully solid. Lucius pushed the thought of Draco aside for one moment: this was between him and Potter and no one else. The boy might be practiced in whoring, but there was more to this than that. Potter wasn’t putting on a show for a client, he was giving in to an undeniable need.

“Whatever I want,” Lucius repeated, his fingers continuing their probing.

“Yes…. Ah, God, Lucius” – and it was the first time the boy had used his name, perhaps ever – “God, please!”

Part of Lucius wanted to prolong this moment, enjoy the sensation of The Boy Who Lived crying out for him, for Lucius Malfoy. But Harry raised his hips in supplication and Lucius could do nothing but thrust his cock deeply inside him.

The boy was tight – tighter than he’d have expected from someone so experienced. Lucius wondered for a second whether spells might have… but Potter seemed to have renounced his wizard background entirely. Still, it was gratifying to hear the long, drawn out groan of pleasure as he pushed inside him, to feel Harry’s fingers digging into his arms in his ecstasy. Lucius wasn’t touching him at this moment; he wondered for a second whether Potter might come even without that encouragement, but the boy reached down to fondle himself, and Lucius slapped his hand away. If Potter came - when Potter came – it would be thanks to Lucius, no other agency.

“You want me to touch you, don’t you?” he said quietly, running a tantalising hand across Harry’s taut body. “Don’t you?”

“Yes.” Potter seemed to be unable to articulate more than the monosyllable.

*

And Lucius was – oh God, yes, he was… Harry had his eyes squeezed tightly shut, yet he was still aware of a single solitary tear running down his cheek. Lucius was fucking him and it was more, more than anyone could describe – Harry was transported, transformed, pure energy and lust in human form – magic indeed. Lucius’s cock buried deep inside him, Lucius’s hand steady and firm on his cock, stroking him in that way - there, yes, there…

“Yes, yes” – and it was as if no other word existed as Harry moaned it over and again – “Yes!”

Lucius’s hand quickened its pace, his cock did the same inside Harry, and the world was spinning on its axis and Harry was coming – coming in desperate waves of pleasure that almost hurt in their intensity. He lay, gasping for breath, beneath Lucius, and it was only when the first shuddering moments had passed that he realised that Malfoy had come too.

Moments passed.

“You wanted me, Potter. Admit it.”

And Malfoy was back to being the cold, cruel bastard Harry had known. Harry pushed himself to sitting, and looked right back at him.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I did, but my name’s not Potter these days. I took my new name from that which brought me to this place.”

“Gerry?”

“Oh no,” said Harry deliberately, making the most of his one moment of the cold dish of revenge. “My surname. Did no one tell you? In honour of your son, I’ve taken his name. My name is Gerry Dragon.”

Harry might be drunk, but he was not drunk enough to be unable to enjoy the expression of fury on Lucius Malfoy’s face.