Muggle MagicAuthor/Artist: inamacCharacters/Pairings:
Lucius Malfoy/Rufus ScrimgeourRating:
Alternate pairing, Tunnel of Love (mention of sex clubs)Other Warnings:
Cock fondling.Word Count:
After the war is over, two old enemies take a ride.Author's Notes:
This was much, much longer, but I decided to cut the cackle and get to the 'osses. Someday I may get round to telling the backstory of this unlikely pairing. Meanwhile, on with the smut. Muggle Magic
Ever since he persuaded me to rescue him from torture by the Dark Lord and hide him in the Manor for the duration of the War, Rufus Scrimgeour has been capable of talking me into anything.
Which was how, on a cold and windy October day, in an otherwise closed and deserted fairground, I found myself sitting beside him in a Muggle conveyance preparing to enter into the unknown.
It was a sort of metal carriage, ostensibly shaped to represent a swan, although the battered, misshapen head and beak which arose in front of our seat, and the colour, bright pink (half paint, half rust), made it look more like a deformed flamingo. There was a whole chain of them, moving along in progression that reminded me of the carriage journey to Hogwarts, although the occasional lurch and the rattling noises that emerged from beneath the thing emphasised that this was crude Muggle trickery rather than elegant enchantment.
As the contraption jerked into motion I decided that there was a limit to the amount of discomfort I should be expected to put up with and took out my wand to transfigure the hard metal seat into a soft cushioned sofa and to silence
the rattling of the machinery. We glided beneath a garish archway which declared, in flickering lightbulbs, that this was a TUN_E_ OF LOVE
, and into a dimly lit pink cavern.
"Rufus," I said, as somewhere violins started to play softly something that was, presumably, the advertised Tune, "Why have you dragged me out on this bloody cold day for a ride on this Muggle contraption?"
He sighed. "It's a option, Malfoy. You need to explore all the options."
I looked at him. Grizzled hair and stern demeanour betrayed by mischievously shining eyes. Generally speaking, Rufus Scrimgeour got what he wanted, and what he wanted on this occasion, whatever else he might pretend was his objective in seducing me into this ludicrous journey, was me. Well, that was clear enough. Having arranged the conveyance to my convenience I began to arrange my companion accordingly. The buttons fastening his robe yielded to my fingers one by one, from collar to cock. I could feel him looking down at my working hands, and perking up under the touch.
"That wasn't wha..." he began. I have no idea how he intended to finish because he knows that I am not to be stopped in the pursuit of pleasure and at that point I finished with the buttons and seized my objective. He made an exasperated little noise, then I felt his lips touch my neck, just below the ear, his nose nuzzled the hair aside to allow his tongue to slide over my most sensitive spot (at least above the waist). That did stop me for a moment as I leaned into the touch with a small encouraging moan.
"More," I demanded.
His arm slipped from the back of the car where he had rested it and curled around me. His hand over mine guided it further down, brushing aside the silk-embroidered edge of his robe and onto the silk of the hair around his balls.
He's not called the Old Lion for nothing. He purred under my touch, a throaty growl that vibrated against my throat where his lips were still fixed.
And I was hard. So turned on that I bucked against his thigh, spreading the dampness of my own robes onto his.
We were both still holding our wands in our free hands, and he beat me to a wordless cleaning spell. That's Auror training for you.
The car clacked around a corner and the sudden change of direction threw me onto his lap. I dropped my wand but did not let go my grip on his cock. Beautiful thing. Full and hard and rosy. Suddenly I saw the point of the pink flamingo-swan. Sympathetic magic. Maybe Muggles aren't so clueless after all? I stroked and fondled, touching all the sensitive spots, and he growled again, and then both of us needed another cleaning spell.
A bell sounded somewhere, a note of triumph. It reminded me of the old chapel bell at the manor, the one that Rufus Malfoy (a co-incidence of names had amused us at a time when we had needed something to lighten the dark of Voldemort's rule), had charmed to ring whenever the master of the house bedded its mistress. Inspired, I reached for him again, but this time he pushed me away.
"The ride is almost over," he said. "We need to compose ourselves."
"Be damned to that!" I exclaimed. "I can apparate us both now!"
But it was no good. The man was settling his robe, collecting my wand from the floor of the car and negating the enchantments that had made the rusting old wreck so comfortable.
"So," he said, as we emerged through a curtained archway into the wan sunlight of a wet seaside town in October, "What do you think of the 'Tunnel of Love'? As a tourist project to help fund the Manor, that is."
I thought about it for as long as it took to exit the car and find a place away from Muggle eyes.
"Not much," I said, taking his hand. Then I transported us both back to my bed and demonstrated exactly what sort of tunnel of love
I wanted to have at the Manor.
PS. Three months later, I opened the Banqueting Pavilion as a very discrete sex club. As I said, Rufus can talk me into anything. Lucius Malfoy