Originally posted November 14, 2006.

Title: Duality
Author: r_grayjoy
Characters: Severus, Severus/Lucius
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: gratuitous use of present tense
Kinks chosen: boot fetish, blow jobs
Word Count: 1000
Summary: "It is his first social gathering as a newly initiated Death Eater, and he should not be spending the entire occasion staring at Lucius Malfoy's boots…"
Author's notes: OMG, I wrote Snucius… sort of. o.O

Duality

It is his first social gathering as a newly initiated Death Eater, and he should not be spending the entire occasion staring at Lucius Malfoy. Or at Lucius Malfoy's boots, to be more precise. It is all Lucius' fault, damn him. The master of the house had made his grand entrance clad in stylish riding attire complete with long, black boots that came up over his knees, and that had been the end of Severus' composure. Now Lucius reclines casually on an antique settee, holding a crystal campaign glass aloft and entertaining some wealthy Ministry official who is sympathetic to the cause, and Severus cannot manage to stop watching out of the corner of his eye. In fact, it seems that he is powerless to do anything other than pretend he is not staring, and be infinitely thankful for the concealing nature of his robes.

The moment the assembly has come to an end, Severus rushes out of the Malfoy estate. He can scarcely contain himself long enough to make it beyond the bounds of the anti-Apparition wards surrounding his host's home, and the moment, the very instant that he does, he Apparates directly into the sitting room of his own much more humble dwelling. Now that he is finally alone, he lets out a low groan as he fumbles for the fastenings of his robes. He tugs them open, heedless of a flying button and the sound of stretched fabric -- he'll repair it later -- and frees his hard, aching prick.

He wraps his fist firmly around himself and closes his eyes, remembering Lucius in those boots, lounging in that sinful fashion on the posh settee. In his memory, however, he and Lucius are the only people in the large, elegant room, and Lucius is looking at him with interest. The Lucius in his mind tells Severus to kneel before him, and he does; Severus falls to his knees in the center of his sitting room, eyes still shut tight, hand still closed firmly around his swollen cock.

I saw you looking at me, Severus, says the imaginary Lucius in his cool, cultured tone. I know what you want. It's written plainly on your face for all to see. Shameless. You want someone to treat you like the vulgar animal you are. Very well, then. Lick them. Of course Severus knows what it is that Lucius wants, and he instantly moves to comply. Bending low, he extends his tongue and licks a long line first up one boot, then the other, worshiping them, reveling in the distinctive scent and texture of the supple leather. Severus shudders and has to squeeze himself hard to stop himself from coming.

In his mind's eye, Lucius casually brings his graceful fingers down to unlace the placket of his riding pants and take out his cock -- already hard for Severus -- and he tells, no, orders Severus to taste him. Severus' mouth waters, and he imagines himself taking Lucius' long, elegant cock into his mouth. He begins to stroke himself, slowly so as not to end the fantasy too soon, and he can almost feel Lucius between his lips, on his tongue.

Lucius is not a demonstrative man, but in his mind Severus is rewarded with an approving hiss of pleasure as he takes in as much of Lucius' magnificent length as he can manage and sucks for all he's worth. When Lucius twists his fingers almost painfully in Severus' hair, Severus can no longer contain himself. He imagines himself shifting over to rub his leaking, twitching prick against Lucius' black-clad calf. He imagines the sensation of sliding over smooth, hot leather. He fists himself harder, faster, oh god...

Severus is skilled at performing fellatio, or so he imagines, and it doesn't take long for him to bring Lucius to climax. The cold, beautiful man in his mind jerks his hips upward and grunts, and suddenly Severus' mouth is filled with the viscous, salty fluid of release. It is more than he can bear, and abruptly Severus cries out a choked wail, shoots strands of hot, sticky come all over Lucius' boots, all over his sitting room floor.

Gradually Severus' pulse slows and his vision clears, and he finds himself staring at the mess he has made on the threadbare carpet. Instantly he is overcome with guilt and shame, and he hastily whips out his wand to vanish the evidence of his deviance. With trembling hands he straightens and repairs his robes, and he wonders if his peculiar behavior and abrupt departure were noticed tonight. His cheeks flame scarlet as he realizes they must have been, and he silently vows that nothing like this will ever happen again. Resolved, Severus moves toward his small kitchen and puts the kettle on for tea.

* * * * *

He is halfway though his second cup when an unexpected owl flies in through his mail chute and comes to rest on the counter before him. Upon taking the letter from the owl's beak, he instantly recognizes the Malfoy crest stamped into the wax seal. With mingled curiosity and apprehension he unfolds the crisp parchment and reads,

Severus,

You left so quickly that I didn't have an opportunity to speak with you before you vanished. I couldn't help but notice that you seemed intrigued by my attire this evening, and I had planned to ask whether you might be interested in riding lessons. If so, you should return this weekend. Narcissa will be visiting family, and we will have the estate to use at our whim. If you are not yet convinced, then I should assure you that I am a most experienced and skilled instructor.

I shall expect you at 7:00 pm on Friday.

Regards,

Lucius A. Malfoy

Stunned, Severus reads the missive over again, and again. Lucius' tone is all smug self-assurance, as though he is certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that Severus will arrive on Friday as instructed. Of course Lucius is not wrong, Severus reflects, and he prepares to compose a reply in order to ask what he should wear.