Originally posted at LJ on July 27, 2007

Author: scribbulus_ink
Warnings: oral sex, house-elf in a sexual situation
Rating: hard R/light NC17
Word Count: ~1100
Compliant to: GoF - this is a retro fic, and there are no spoilers unless you haven't read GoF



Title: In Service
Pairing: Barty Crouch Sr/Winky
Warnings: no spoilery warnings
Summary: Winky loves to serve her master in all ways.
Notes: I couldn't bring myself to write DH fic, and so I went for something utterly and completely cracked and wrong instead.

Everyone, house-elf and human alike, assumed Winky was miserable only because she felt disgraced over having been freed, and that was one of the main reasons why she swilled butterbeer and wept into her tea towel, but it wasn't the only reason. Winky missed her master desperately and knew he was suffering without her because she had loved him and served him well in all ways. All ways.

It wasn't unheard of. No one talked about it, of course, but there were always whispers about what went on between house-elves and their masters and mistresses, especially those who were lonely or possessed of unusual tastes. Winky had been ignorant of the whispers - of the possibilities - until one night shortly after her mistress left and Master Barty came into the house. She had gone in to check on her master one last time before bed to make certain he didn't want a cup of hot milk or an extra blanket, and she had found him lying in bed, not reading and not asleep even though his eyes were closed.

He was doing something under the covers and making the most worrisome sounds, and she almost interrupted, fearful that he was ill, until he cried out and slumped against his pillows, and she realized abruptly that he had enjoyed whatever he had been doing. She didn't know what it was, but she loved her master and wanted to please him, and if this mysterious act gave him pleasure, she was determined to find out what it was so she could help. He had been so lonely since her mistress left, and Master Barty grieved him deeply; it was up to Winky to help him find pleasure and happiness again.

Every night, she crept into her master's room and watched. Some nights, he didn't perform the mysterious act under the covers; he read for a while and went straight to sleep. But some nights, he did, and she watched, anxious to learn more. Night after night, she watched and waited without learning any more than she had that first night until the nights grew warmer. Whatever her master did under the covers, it made him sweat, and Winky wondered if perhaps he might not perform the mysterious act under the covers if his room was warm enough.

One night, she built up the fire in her master's bedroom far hotter than usual, and her efforts were rewarded. Her master threw back the covers, already sweating lightly, and he yanked down the bottoms of his pyjamas and his underpants.Winky's eyes grew as round as saucers as she watched her master take himself in hand, and she covered her mouth with both hands to keep him from hearing her gasp as he began to stroke himself with a slow, deliberate rhythm. She didn't even know what that part of him was called, only that it looked like a purplish-red club, and she was startled when white liquid erupted from the tip, but her squeak of surprise was drowned out by his cry of pleasure.

So that was the mysterious act! It seemed simple enough: stroke the club until it released the liquid, and her master would be happy.

The next night, her master did not perform the act, but Winky was determined to show him what she had learned nonetheless. After he turned out the lamp, she crept onto the bed and eased down the covers. She bared his club slowly and carefully, and she wrapped her long fingers around it. It didn't look like a club, and it was limp in her hand, but it was warm, too, and she liked the feel of it. She began to stroke it lovingly, and she felt it stir and grow harder, lifting and swelling until it looked like the club she had seen, and she heard her master gasp.

The light came on, and her master gaped at her, and the club wilted a little, but she kept stroking it. "Winky, what are you doing?" her master demanded, and she smiled.

"I is pleasing you," she said simply.

"But-"

"You is lonely, master, and Winky knows what to do."

The first time, her master simply lay there, and when the club erupted, he didn't cry out like he did when he was alone, but Winky came back every night, and after a while, he began showing her what to do, giving silent instructions on how to change the rhythm of the stroking, how to hold the club, how to stroke and squeeze the firm, hairy sacs beneath the club. Winky listened and learned, happy that she could please her master so well.

After several months, her master taught her how to use her tongue, and she learned the taste of the white liquid, salty and rich. She lapped it up eagerly because it was part of her master, and she loved to please him. He made choppy, breathless sounds and watched her with a light in his eyes, and it made her feel proud. She was doing her job well, and her master's pleasure was her reward.

After about a year, her master taught her how to please him in other ways. She knew there was something inside that tight hole under the hairy sacs that made him writhe and cry out when she worked one of her long fingers inside him and stroked it. She felt no shame in touching him in such an intimate place, not when it gave him such joy.

Afterward, she always used her magic to clean him and herself up, and she tucked him in, smoothing the covers tenderly while he lay back against his pillow, his face flushed. For a long time, he refused to look at her afterward and responded to her inquiry about whether he wanted anything else with a terse shake of his head. But in time, he began looking at her again and answered her questions pleasantly, assuring her that he was fine before she returned to the kitchen to finish her work for the night.

Sometimes he even touched her, a brief caress so swift and fleeting she could almost think it hadn't happened at all, and it was that she grieved for - the loss of those touches and the sound of his cries, the bliss of knowing she had made him forget for a while and given him peace. She drank her butterbeer and wept, rocking back and forth as she keened, missing the taste and the feel of him, knowing he was alone at night with no one to touch him, and the thought made her heart break all over again.

Winky loved her master and had served him well in all ways, and more than anything, she wished she could serve him again.