Gift for the Community! Fic: Standing Reminder (Kingsley/Lucius)
Title: Standing Reminder
Author: florahart
Recipient: The Community
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 9350
Warnings: none
Summary: (including pairing) Kingsley/Lucius. Kingsley doesn't do relationships, and this one is a good reason why.
Disclaimers: I don't own HP characters.
Notes: The request included power play and snarky Lucius; however, when it came to it, the power equation worked out maybe the other way around. I hope that's okay.



Kingsley set down his newspaper hard, crumpling the bottom page, and worried his upper lip with his teeth. He supposed it had been inevitable; family and bloodline were topics they'd discussed many times, and he knew Lucius held them in a place of critical importance, though he'd never been able to get him to actually explain, specifically, why.

Still, he did think it might have been nice to find out about this little gem by some more personal method, such as a Floo call or a letter or virtually any method other than a public fucking notice in the most popular fucking newspaper in the fucking world.

Because if Kingsley knew this was important to Lucius, Lucius had to be clear on Kingsley's position on what it meant to take a fucking vow. Even a hurried vow. Even a vow taken under duress, really.

Yeah, so he was young and an idealist about certain things. Like vows. Well it didn't matter. Lucius had to know what this meant for them, and evidently hadn't felt it was worthwhile to bother warning him before he had to swallow the gulp of coffee that was scalding hot and trying to go up his nose, scorching his soft palate and making his eyes water. Hadn't felt it was worthwhile, or hadn't cared to. Or didn't know he needed to, which Kingsley thought might actually be the most troubling notion in the lot.

He took a breath and glanced back at the notice.

Inevitable, he reminded himself.

December first, then. Naturally, Narcissa Black would wish for a winter wedding; the woman had been born to be a bloody ice princess, hadn't she?

He held up his hand to garner the publican's attention and ordered a Flaming Icicle--a triple measure of firewhisky and some creamy blue mint shite that smoldered slow and probably ate your stomach from the inside, by the feel of it--and knocked it back in one, then stared at the early snow drifting down outside as the flickering heat of the liquor worked its way into his toes.

Fuck.

Eventually, after a second round (probably too much for this early in the day, but Kingsley figured this was as good an excuse as any to get soundly drunk) and a quick trip to the gents', Kingsley weaved his way out of the pub and around the corner, where he leaned against the cool brick in the alley for a moment to steady himself before concluding Apparating was a terrible idea and continuing on his way on foot.

He probably needed to walk off his irritation anyway, and yes, that was the kind of cool-headed thinking that was serving him well in Auror training, but it was only irritating under these circumstances. He was angry, wasn't he? Angry at the end of a relationship he hadn't ever meant to have, and maybe he'd been right in the first place, that he was just fundamentally not cut out for love because even while he felt hurt and cast-aside and annoyed, not to mention drunk, he was seeing the sense of taking a walk and calmly deciding not to Apparate.

At least he was stomping a bit, and not only to shake off fluffy fat flakes landing on his ankles and thighs before they could melt. He didn't bother to shake them off his head; they rested on top of his hair and formed a slowly-melting white hood there that he'd just dislodge when he got where he was going.

By the time he reached his flat--and it was a hell of a walk in the snow--the heat of the liquor was mostly gone, leaving a frustrating spinning nausea in his stomach and a weird taste behind his eyes, and his feet were fucking wet and he couldn’t be arsed to get out of Muggle view enough to at least dry his socks, so fuck it, all of which meant he wasn't paying the best of attention as he opened the front door and started up the stairs.

Which was how he wound up on his arse on the landing, having stepped back unwisely when startled by Lucius stepping out of the alcove.

Well, and his reflexes probably weren't in the best shape in the world anyway at the moment, plus the steps were wet.

It was almost worth the throb in his ankle to see the look of alarm stretching Lucius's always-smooth features into a wrinkle-encouraging gasp. Almost.

It was definitely not worth the throb in his disobedient and completely unhelpful groin at the thought Lucius actually seemed concerned, and maybe not just for the potential for unseemly and untidy complications such as being brought up on charges related to the fall, if Kingsley were injured--after all, all the man had to do was Apparate away and no one would have any bloody idea he'd been here, as he was certainly Disillusioned against Muggle eyes anyway--but for Kingsley's personal well-being.

He told his groin to fuck off and that Lucius was only concerned about whether Kingsley would be too injured to be interested in a goodbye fuck. How like him, to show up here today, full of excuses and smooth denials and most likely if Kingsley didn't mention he'd seen the bloody announcement, he'd pretend it hadn't happened, if it would get him what he wanted.

Getting Lucius what Lucius wanted was always of paramount importance. Which Kingsley basically understood, damn it. He was a practical man, and he knew that goals and plans were how one made a difference. Knew that he had goals and plans of his own, of which Lucius was not, in fact, a long-term part. Didn't mean he had to like being a stepping-stone. Or maybe not even that, as it was hard to envision how Lucius might use their particular sort of relationship to advantage given the general public opinion of men who fucked other men. Well, and he also knew Lucius wasn't the most studious and serious man he'd ever known; it really was all about what he wanted, in the way a child wants a toy, rather than in meeting goals. At least, usually.

He struggled his way upright, cursing and putting weight on his ankle gingerly and vaguely contemplating how horrified Moody would be to learn he'd managed to be surprised ten feet from his own front door, then limped up a couple of steps before Lucius was beside him, helping. He stopped and turned his head, lifting a brow.

"You've been drinking," Lucius observed.

"Some," Kingsley agreed.

"Dare I hope it's to assuage the anguish left by the announcement my father, unbeknownst to me, put in this morning's Prophet?"

Kingsley had no idea how to answer that question, so he went back to limping up one riser after another, allowing Lucius to help him mostly because that was easier than getting up to his flat on his own. And because he couldn’t recall Lucius ever actually voluntarily doing any such thing before, especially when there were unpleasant things like wet clothes and coldly dripping hair, and he wanted to take full advantage before kicking his arse out into the snow.

Possibly without his wand.

Or his very fine and expensive cloak.

When the reached the top, he shrugged away Lucius's supporting arm and let himself into his flat. "I'd assumed you were here in an effort to get what you could out of me before I heard," he said abruptly. "Therefore, I can't imagine why you're telling me."

"May I come in?" Kingsley stopped just before he was about to close the door, and stared, but Lucius waited silently, chin up but somehow not particularly proud, on the other side of the doorway. Finally, he nodded and held the door a bit wider.

"Sure, why not? What's the worst that could happen?" A memory charm, he supposed, or the Imperius Curse, neither of which he had ever supposed Lucius wouldn't use in a heartbeat if he thought the ends sufficient by whatever chart of relative value he might employ in place of a conscience. He closed the door and pointed his wand at his ankle to begin repairing the worst of the tear, all but ignoring Lucius as he shuffled his feet and drew a breath.

"I honestly had no idea," Lucius began.

"The announcement was a lie? That's unusual."

"Well, no. It's true enough, for what it says--"

"Ah, so he's marrying you off to a woman in whom you've no interest, and you're going along with it, then?" Kingsley flexed the foot a couple of times as he headed for the refrigerator. It'd be stiff, tomorrow, but he supposed not too bad.

"No; I'm certain you were aware that Narcissa and I had attended a handful of functions together, so it's unlikely you think we hold no interest in one another. You aren't stupid." Lucius had followed him into the kitchen, which Kingsley couldn't remember him ever doing before--usually he made himself comfortable in the sitting room and allowed Kingsley to bring him tea, if they got so far as tea before heading straight for bed. Or just stayed in bed, when they had tea after.

Huh.

"So, what, then?"

"He believed it was necessary to choose the earliest possible date."

Kingsley stared into the refrigerator at the remaining bottle or two of each of three different cheap beers as he tried to think of any possible reason besides the obvious that Abraxas Malfoy would be concerned about the earliness of Lucius's marriage. Finally, he closed the door without getting anything out. "I see. And is it?"

Lucius looked away. "It's possible. Perhaps."

"Ah."

"Certainly, you understand--"

"Yep." Kingsley brushed past him and went back into the sitting room. "I know, Lucius. Family, bloodlines, et cetera."

"And still, you're angry."

"Not because you want a socially-sanctioned marriage and heirs. I've known that for quite some time." He sat in the big chair and bent to remove his shoes, which were still wet, healed ankle notwithstanding.

Lucius remained standing, silent, until Kingsley looked up. He seemed puzzled. "I fail to see how, if you expected I would marry, you're angry at the announcement that I will. Upset, perhaps, to not have known it was coming, but why would you be angry?"

Kingsley stared for a moment. "Of curiosity, Lucius, if I were to tell you that Sirius Black tends to get broody as the winter comes, and showed up here last week for supper and a cheering blow job, how would you react?"

"That boy is entirely deranged."

"Aside from that."

"I'd be quite concerned for your sanity, if you've the need for that sort of association. Is he even out of school?" Lucius made a show of counting on his fingers, then shrugged.

"I see." Kingsley shook his head. "And, if you've Narcissa Black, who, I might point out, is one tiny familial branch and two measly years away from Sirius, in your bed, what does that make your association with me?"

"That's entirely different. Narcissa can't do what you do for me, and the interaction is quite different indeed. If not for that, there would be no need--"

"Yes, yes." Kingsley waved a hand in irritation. "So, you wouldn’t feel at all upset in principle. You'd only be bothered by the presence of a cock because you have one of those."

"In principle?" Lucius's smooth brow crinkled as he considered this. "You feel… betrayed?"

"You might say." Kingsley shoved off one sock, then the other. "I suppose it's true, you and I haven't made each other any promises. We haven't said anything about what we do, the hundred and sixty or so hours a week we aren't fucking."

"Of course we haven't. One can't make promises to one's… there is no proper word for our relationship."

"Lover?"

"This implies some sort of exchange of feelings, does it not?"

"And you have none, I suppose." Kingsley jerked his head to the side in a sort of shrug. "I probably knew that."

"And what, pray, is that to mean?"

Kingsley stood, hands on his hips, and shook his head. "For all you go on about propriety, or at least, for all you care about propriety, you don't think it's proper to have some sort of emotional connection with your ongoing… whatever word it is if it's not lover."

"There is no proper word for our relationship; what we do is inherently improper." Lucius did seem genuinely uncertain, for all that his words were sure.

Kingsley pursed his lips. "Good to know. So, what the fuck are you doing here, then?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What are you doing here? You seemed apologetic, seemed concerned about my reaction. Someone with whom you have no proper relationship, that doesn't make very much sense, does it? Unless the concern is that I might go to the papers and ruin your engagement by stating a prior claim or some damn thing."

Lucius's brow wrinkled again. "You… wouldn't?"

"Fuck no, I wouldn't. My cock and where I put it, that's the business of two people: me and the other party involved. Which, for me, has been you, for the last several months, you complete…" Kingsley broke off and waved a hand, swallowing hard. "No. I wouldn’t. If that's your concern, you can just go home."

Lucius took a couple of steps forward and sat down at last, across from the chair Kingsley had stood up from. "I needed to see you."

"Well, you see me. In the flesh. Sitting in my flat wondering what you're here for, since you've never been here for any reason other than getting off before."

"So crude," Lucius tsked. "No, you fail to take my meaning. I saw the announcement this morning, and of course I went to ask Narcissa, did she not think it would be prudent to wait until I asked, and she laughed. And I told her that while certainly I enjoyed her, I'm hardly prepared to be making that sort of commitment at this time. After all, I hadn't planned to marry until I was thirty, at least."

"Ah, so, what, another seven years, you intended to fuck around first."

Lucius shook his head and waved a hand impatiently. "And there are no promises in the way. She told me her parents had already been to see Father, which of course, I had assumed, since the announcement does name both sets of parents, and that the matter was settled."

"How frustrating for you." Kingsley generally avoided sarcasm as a weapon, but as he was currently nursing a building headache from the liquor, standing on a sore ankle, and listening to his lover complain about the circumstances under which his considerably less-stable relationship had overtaken his life, he thought he might be justified, just this once.

"You still don't see. I've been maneuvered. Manipulated. She and her family have decided they want an alliance, but rather than simply proposing one--"

Kingsley sat back down with a huff, suddenly unwilling to dance around this any further. "So, to sum up, for the first time in your life, you've been the subject of this bullshit rather than the one holding all the strings, and you've found out, somehow to your surprise, that this isn't a position you enjoy. Not, I imagine, that this is going to change your general methodology in dealing with people you dislike. And you've come to complain to me about it, despite that you have no feelings for me, notwithstanding that you certainly do have a certain fondness for my cock, and despite that we have no actual relationship of any sort, other than that you come here to fuck and to complain. Does that roughly sum up your situation?"

Lucius scowled, looking surprisingly young. "Yes, nearly, but that isn't why I came here. And why would it change my methodology?"

Kingsley closed his eyes and spent a few seconds thinking about whether it wouldn’t just be easiest to use a sodding memory charm himself and then send the man on his way so he could nurse his unexpected wounds in private. Finally, he opened them again and said, "Fine. One philosophical issue at a time. Why did you come here?"

"I told you. I needed to see you."

Kingsley thought for a moment maybe he'd imagined the last several exchanges; it seemed as though they were going in circles badly. "Could you be a little, or a lot, more specific?"

"No; I needed to come, so I did."

Kingsley waited for further explanation, then when none was forthcoming, ran his hand over his head, tangling his fingers down into his own hair and tugging as he wondered whether Lucius had always been this completely insane and then further wondering how it was he'd come to be the reasonable party in the room given he was the one done badly by. But, clearly Lucius wasn't going to be the adult, and on consideration, Kingsley thought maybe he never had been. They'd never talked about particularly serious matters, and while Lucius certainly knew any number of ways to influence people, ways to manipulate and coerce and sell to gain something specific, perhaps he honestly had no idea how to explain his own motivations in matters so vague as personal emotion. He sighed. "All right, if you can't explain that, maybe you can give me some idea what you hoped to accomplish. What outcome you're looking for."

"I… I suppose it was my hope we should discuss how to best end our current dalliance and what sort of long-term arrangements we might make."

"Our current dalliance, as you term it, is already ended."

"What?"

"I won't remain involved with someone who is promised elsewhere. Unless you plan to publicly disavow the announcement--"

"Impossible!"

"I expected as much. So, that makes you promised elsewhere."

Lucius's lips quirked into what, in a child, would certainly be called a pout. Actually, Kingsley supposed it would be called that in Lucius, as well. "I didn't promise anything."

"Regardless." Kingsley folded his arms over his chest. "Therefore, there's no call to discuss how we'll end it. You, or your father, or whoever made the arrangements, has already seen to that. As to long-term arrangements, I'm sure you can't mean to suggest we continue."

"Well, not now," Lucius said, as though Kingsley had suggested something particularly absurd. "That would be imprudent in the extreme, as I'm certain there will be any number of people watching where I go and how I prepare for what should be quite a ceremony. However, I've quite enjoyed your, shall we say, company--"

"Let's just call it my dick and be done dancing around."

"If you insist. In any case, there's no reason not to continue, once the social requirements have all been seen to."

"Yes, there is."

"But--"

"Lucius. I know you're wealthy, and I know you're spoiled, but I didn't think you were stupid." Lucius bristled, but before he could work out how to respond to such baldly unflattering words, Kingsley went on. "I said, I won't remain involved with someone who's promised elsewhere. To the best of my knowledge, marriage involves promises."

"But it's hardly unheard-of, for a man in my position to take his pleasure outside the marriage bed, once his lineage is assured--which hardly seems at issue--and conventions have been met. I don't expect to take a great deal of pleasure in it."

"Perhaps it's not unheard-of, but if you plan to take a lover, it won't be me. And the notion of a man calculating the timeframe in which to do so on the very afternoon his engagement has been announced is repugnant." Kingsley stood again as his temper built again. "Lucius, just go."

"Not even a farewell, then?"

"I do hope you fare well, Lucius. I hope you have a good life with your wife."

"That isn't what I meant."

"I didn't think it was. But it's what I have to offer." Kingsley swept his arm toward the door, eyes remaining fixed on Lucius as he stood, clearly still very surprised by the outcome of the conversation.

A moment later, the door closed behind him, and Kingsley sat down one more time, slumping back into the chair and leaning on his elbow on one padded arm.

Fuck.

His feet were cold. His head hurt. His knee was wrenched, which he hadn't noticed with the ankle and the situation, but which was now throbbily apparent. His chest hurt, though that was certainly due to sitting here being reasonable when he rather wanted to hit something, and his hands had been clenched hard enough to cramp, fingers twitching irregularly now that he'd relaxed them.

It was a new experience, breaking off an affair after months rather than days or hours; he decided he didn't like it.

Maybe he should just avoid having them. Affairs. He always had before, generally opting for the less complicated route of rough hand-jobs in alleys or sitting rooms with a never-ending supply of handsome and willing blokes from either world, or occasionally an anxious fuck in a stall somewhere, bending a man over a toilet or pressing him into the unsturdy metal wall.

It hadn't been deep or anything, but it also hadn't sucked like this did, and while Lucius was perhaps wrong about the issue of acceptability--after all, Kingsley hadn't had that much trouble finding playmates--it was true that most of the men he'd fucked weren't really looking for a relationship. As he hadn't been. He'd just fallen into the thing with Lucius, suckered by clear grey eyes and surprising vulnerability, which, obviously, had mostly been the innocence of never having had to think about anything complicated like--gasp!--other people's emotions.

Well, fuck it. He didn't need it, and if he did, he could find a temporary soulmate in the loo at Peterson's on the other side of the river from time to time, or just call up a memory and embellish it on his own.

He growled at his empty flat and flung himself forward again out of the chair and stomping off to bed. He needed a bloody nap, and he had every excuse to pity himself for a few hours, anyway. A muttered charm sent the rest of his clothes to the laundry pile in the corner even as he lifted his knee to slide in under the covers, and a moment later he was sprawled on his belly, wrapping his arms around and under his pillow.

He lay there for several minutes, scowling, then flopped over onto his back.

He was too damn tense to sleep, too worn out to do anything useful, and too angry to even read, and as he lay there, all he could think about was why the hell he'd been so blind-sided. He recalled their last--before today--conversation, Thursday, Lucius on his belly on the bed between Kingsley's thighs, nuzzling and nibbling with his lips, occasionally offering a word in their ongoing discussion regarding the Ministry's direction and the politics of the different factions. He supposed this wasn't ordinary pillow talk, but then, they both had some interest in the issue, arguing over ideals and trends until they got frustrated, and then fucking away the tension.

It occurred to Kingsley that resolving differences by orgasm, while fun, might not be the best way to conduct a relationship of any substance. Or at least, not the most ordinary way, but then he'd always been attracted to intelligence, and Lucius was wealthy, spoiled, and sheltered, not stupid. It was the fact that their arguments were good that had been so arousing to him. That had kept him coming back when physically, a muscular redhead with a penchant for cursing or a Muggle punk in jeans and tattoos would get him off just as well.

And damn it all over again, lying here in bed considering the joys of fucking wasn't really helping him to sleep.

He thought about getting up, getting dressed, going out again. He could have another drink, find some willing sod with dark hair and brown eyes and the tanned skin and broad shoulders of a gardener, and put everything out of his mind by pounding it out with his body.

But getting up was too much trouble, and his mind's eye was filled with white-blond hair and sharp words, and his feet were just warming up.

And he didn't feel like it.

He ran his hand down his stomach, carding his fingers through the wirier hair of his groin, and rolled his balls, tugging slightly.

Thinking about Lucius felt odd; not that he'd never jerked off over him before, but usually not while he felt like this. But it was easy, and in his mind he could indulge in ways he never would allow himself to in the flesh.

He pulled at his thickening shaft and imagined dragging Lucius to a Muggle pub. Maybe he'd dress him in conspicuous tight leather and tease him until he begged for release. Maybe he'd have him wear a collar like some subservient boy. Maybe he'd find them a table in a corner and slide into the outside of the booth, trapping him in place and groping mercilessly.

The real Lucius would never have allowed any of it, not that Kingsley had ever tried, but Kingsley was angry and he felt justified in at least meting out punishment in his imagination. He thought about Lucius's slender hips and adjusted the mental leather trousers to ride low, almost humiliatingly low, then adjusted the pub's occupants to take them as an invitation.

He held that though for a while, stroking slowly, then let his mental image change. He'd take him to the pub and show him off, allowing all manner of touching and squeezing of his friend, and then he'd bring him home, and Lucius would fall to his knees, ignoring the way his cock bulged painfully against the tight leather, and tell Kingsley it had all been a mistake, that he'd ended it.

And he'd want to apologize with his lips and tongue and long slender fingers.

Repeatedly.

Kingsley went back to contemplating pale hair sticking to his sweaty thighs as Lucius opened his throat and swallowed around him--Merlin, it had been fun to teach him that--and tossed back the blanket as he came, spattering onto his stomach and chest, drips landing on his chin and one ear.

He reached for his wand immediately, a little disgusted with himself for getting off on the notion of humiliating his barely-ex, and cleared away the mess, then pulled the blanket back into place and rolled over to try and get some sleep.

He had work tomorrow, and trainees didn't get to call in sick, at heart or otherwise.

:::::

"What are you doing here?" Kingsley asked, uncertain whether the sudden gruffness in his throat was irritation, unwelcome interest, or an oncoming winter cold. He'd walked home again, and had for weeks now in the alternating slush and ice that might trip him or soak him or both, not that he could quite manage to care. He was used to the chill, used having his fingers go ashy grey with cold as he tramped along, and used to arriving home and turning the satisfyingly Muggle tumblers in the unassumingly Muggle door before stripping off his wet things in the cold apartment and changing into woolly socks and ugly orange track pants.

He was not used to finding Lucius on his landing, sitting on a bench that hadn't been there this morning. He hadn't seen him in all that time, save twice in the papers again.

He didn't want to feel warm at the sight, unless it was warmth born of annoyance, and he had the sinking sensation it wasn't.

"She lied," Lucius said.

"How unfortunate for you." The rasp was still there, but Kingsley ignored it and shoved the key into the lock.

"There's no pregnancy. No reason to be married."

"And yet, you are." Kingsley waited for Lucius to move, since the bench itself was fine, but they left Lucius's knees and feet between him and the door.

"I thought--"

"That I was concerned about your eventual child? Of course, but that's not the promise, Lucius." Kingsley sighed and scooted around Lucius's knees. "And look what you're doing before you fucking detransfigure that bench. I don't know if you remember, but you're surrounded by a fully non-magical neighborhood."

"Of course I remember," Lucius said. He stood and pointed at the bench. "I brought it up from outside. It was between this building and the next, and no one ever sits on it there."

Kingsley tilted his head to examine the bench. "Fine. It can stay. You cannot."

"I've asked to have the marriage annulled," Lucius said.

"And has it been?"

"Not yet--no, it's merely a formality. She was never with child, so she misled me. The marriage is invalid."

Kingsley shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Lucius. You fucked her, or you wouldn’t have been worried."

"It was incidental. Accidental."

"Ah, yes. She slipped and fell, cunt-first and knickerless, on your hard cock, and rather than remove her, you merely closed your eyes and thought of England, I suppose."

"No, once we'd begun, I didn't think of anything at all, that I recall. However, my point is, I didn't intend to do any such thing, and merely got caught up in the moment."

I'm very sure we've covered this, love." Kingsley turned away, ostensibly to kick his soaking shoes toward the radiator but actually to close his eyes and curse at himself for letting that word out, because for fuck's sake, that wasn't going to help. "I didn't intend to get involved with you, either, but we were. Involved. And you felt perfectly fine about going ahead and accidentally screwing someone else, and didn't even think I needed to know."

"I hadn't realized it was important to you."

"It wasn't. It shouldn't have been." Kingsley turned around to look at Lucius. "But since you got married, and I'm going to guess you've fucked her… let's see. Married three weeks and probably keeping company a bit before that? So I'll say thirty times. Hardly grounds for annulment, and hardly a reason for you to show up at my door." He shrugged. "Go home. Fuck your wife. Buy her a strap-on so she can stand in for me, and in another week, you'll have forgot about me entirely."

"I won't have," Lucius said, "and buy her a… what?"

"I should think, in context, it would be clear, but I'll explain anyway. Buy her a fake dick she can use to bugger you into the mattress, and leave me the fuck alone."

Lucius pursed his lips. "I can't buy my wife something like that."

"And now she's your wife again. See?"

"Only legally."

"But you're concerned about the propriety of buying her something to shove into you and make you moan. I suppose moaning like you do is socially unacceptable, within the confines of marriage?"

"Probably, but I merely meant, it would be absurd to purchase such a thing when I don't intend to let her do anything to me."

"And when she appears in another month, telling you that all that come you've been unloading into her has had the obvious and predictable result--"

"That's impossible, as I haven't been."

Kingsley lifted a dubious brow. "No sex with your wife? Goodness, how restrained of you."

"She was with child!"

"Oh?"

"No, that is, she wasn't, but as I was under the impression she was, I couldn’t very well expect her to do anything actively physical, could I?"

Kingsley sighed and ignored the reopening of the crack in his heart; for a moment there, he'd had a tiny flash of hope that actually, Lucius had refrained because of some rudimentary feelings for him. He shifted his weight and spoke a bit overloud, forcefully. "That's ridiculous, but the point is the same. Eventually, now she's got her back in the corner, she'll dose you if she has to and ride you stupid all night long."

"Must you be so crude?"

"You used to like that."

"I still find it…" Lucius shuddered. "I like it. However, in reference to the sexual encounters I'm not having with the woman who forced her way into my bed--"

"Ah, so now she forced you. That's not an accident, and I'd have expected if your participation were forced, I would have known, as you'd have been upset."

"Not forced, like that. You're twisting my words."

"And once again, how terribly uncomfortable for you, to be on the wrong side of the twisting, for once. Must be awful." Kingsley went into the bedroom and closed the door to change his clothes; the damp was irritating and Lucius's presence wasn't helping. He took off his trousers and the button-down shirt he'd worn to work, then picked up his tattered track pants and began rummaging in the drawer for socks.

"It is uncomfortable, and I don't see why you persist in tormenting me over it," Lucius said, opening the door.

Kingsley whirled. "Get out."

"It's nothing I haven't seen before," Lucius said, the eagerness in his eyes belying the drawl of his tone.

"It's something you've no right to see, and regardless, I'd think you'd know about the concept of personal space and privacy."

Lucius licked his lips. "And I'd think you'd understand that sometimes political expedience and personal situations don't mesh well. The marriage is over, and I wish to ask your forgiveness for my error in order that we could resume our previous… affair."

Kingsley dropped the track pants on the bed and folded his arms over his chest, ignoring the fact that he certainly looked ridiculous in just his shorts. "If you intend to ask forgiveness, showing up with excuses isn't the way, and even if it were, you're assuming I'm willing to continue, despite every evidence to the contrary."

"But if your objection is merely the marriage, then you've nothing to be concerned about." Lucius stepped closer and looked up and down Kingsley's body.

"You just want cock," Kingsley said flatly. "There's nothing about me you need; if there were, this entire situation would never have unfolded the way it has. Therefore, you can just go find another nameless cock and bend over another couch somewhere. Close your eyes and pretend."

"It's Christmas," Lucius argued, taking another step and reaching or him.

Kingsley closed his eyes. "I'm not much for Christmas, per se," he said, "but it seems to me going looking for a fuck outside the newlywed marriage bed isn't much of a gift for anyone but you."

"But wouldn't it be a lovely gift for me? And you; you still want me, do you not?"

He was closer now, so close Kingsley could smell his hair, intoxicating and gently spicy. "That's neither here nor there. It doesn't matter if I'd die of wanting; you're married and you're incapable of good faith. Or, possibly, any faith in anything more important than your irrelevant bloodline or ridiculous family name or--"

"There's no need to insult."

Kingsley opened his eyes again, looking down into Lucius's cool grey eyes. "I'm not telling you anything I haven't told you before."

"Yes, but before, you weren't telling me just to be cruel."

And wasn't that absurd, that out of all the things about which Lucius might have had something resembling insight, this was the one he chose? "And neither am I now," he said. "It's true, and necessary, so even if you perceive it as primarily cruel, that isn't my primary motivation. But it doesn't matter. I told you before to get out, and I meant it." And so did you, he told his cock, which was evidently considerably less concerned with decency than the rest of him, and which was interestedly swelling in his shorts at the nearness of his most long-standing bed partner.

"You didn't," Lucius said. He put out his hand, one cool finger sliding down Kingsley's belly toward his unethical cock. "You said it, but you didn't mean it."

Kingsley shuddered and caught Lucius's wrist, but then his other hand was there, pushing down the elastic waist and squeezing, and damn it, he should have stepped back before they got to this point, because stopping now was going to be a hundred times harder than just never starting. He groaned and pushed Lucius away, not hard enough to actually move him.

Lucius smiled. "See?" He squeezed again, tightening his grip, and tugged. "Your objection was the vow, and it was no vow. There's no reason to deny yourself."

"You don't give a fuck if I deny myself. You just don't want me to deny you."

"That I would also benefit doesn't alter the basic facts." Lucius tugged again as Kingsley's cock thickened further. "And you want this."

Kingsley ground his teeth together, then stepped back.

Lucius followed, stroking him harder now, freeing his other hand to wave off his own clothes so Kingsley could see he was equally needy. "There's no reason to hold back."

Kingsley sighed. He really should have just thrown the man out bodily in the first place. And then Lucius dropped to his knees, nuzzling and nibbling with his lips at the outline of Kingsley's cock, still inside his shorts and peeking out the top.

Fuck.

"No reason," Lucius said again. "I'm not really married. I don't want to be married. I want you." He went back to nuzzling and lapping, dragging down the elastic again and grasping with both hands.

Kingsley groaned. Damn it. He was going to do this, wasn't he? With a growl, he pushed Lucius back and lifted him up, kissing him hungrily and walking them toward the bed. Lucius hit the mattress first, falling back, and Kingsley followed him down, shoving his legs up hard and grinding their cocks together between them as he Summoned his wand.

Lucius arched toward him and pulled his knees up higher, whimpering and rocking impatiently until Kingsley charmed a pool of lube into his hand and slicked his cock and Lucius's hole. Then, he spread his knees impossibly wider and begged.

Kingsley obliged, sliding into him in one hard thrust, angry at himself for letting this happen, angry at Lucius for begging. He didn't take his time, and didn't wait for anything, squeezing his eyes shut and thrusting hard. Under him, Lucius howled, either pain or pleasure and fuck, he couldn’t quite manage to care which, and then there was come, spurting on his belly as Lucius contracted around him, and he wasn't sure whether knowing it was pleasure was better or worse.

He didn't open his eyes, didn't stop, didn't slow, instead just pounding forward harder until he came.

He pulled out roughly as soon as his triceps stopped shaking, wiping himself off with a stray sock and going directly into the adjoining bath to get in the shower. He needed to clean the disgust off him as soon as possible, and maybe Lucius would be gone when he came out.

It wasn't until he popped the lid on his shampoo and squeezed a glob into his palm that he stopped, gasping, and narrowed his eyes.

As long as he was here, he went ahead with the shower, rinsing quickly and stepping out onto the mat, but as soon as his hands were dry, he picked up his wand and considered how to phrase it. He'd been stupid, before, but he was a bloody Auror, or going to be, and that meant being cold-blooded and thinking it through when the opportunity presented itself.

After a moment, he pointed his wand toward the closed door. He wasn't sure whether Lucius was still in his bed, or gone, so he voiced his spell as a whisper. "Accio loose strands of Lucius's hair.</i>" Surely he'd shed at least a few, and it had been enough weeks since his previous visit to pretty well ensure anything that came to him would be from today. And Kingsley didn't actually want to attract his attention by yanking hairs out of his head.

A little tangle of individual hairs filtered under the door, knotting itself further as it flew into his hand. Kingsley caught it in the air, pinching it between finger and thumb, and brought it to his face, wafting it before him.

The resulting surge of blood to his cock was unmistakable, and it wasn't just that it smelled of Lucius. It smelled of sex and richness and unnamable spice that heated his blood quickly.

That bastard. Kingsley quickly wrapped the knot of hair in a preservation charm, setting it in the corner of the little cabinet behind the mirror, then finished drying his body and wrapped the towel around his waist, tucking the wand in down the middle of his back--uncomfortable, and old Moody would certainly have an opinion, but also not apparent from the front, should Lucius be waiting for him.

He opened the door carefully, silently but quickly enough not to arouse suspicion. He didn't really think Lucius was staring at the door in order to check for the manner of its opening, but the man had fucking used an aphrodisiac, and he wasn't about to underestimate him again.

As he walked out into the bedroom, he exhaled. Lucius was still there, sprawled face-down, a smear of dried come on the back of his thigh, apparently asleep.

Kingsley considered for a moment, then pulled his wand from behind him and murmured a simple sleeping charm. If Lucius had been feigning, he was now asleep, and if he hadn't been, well then, he was more deeply asleep. Either way, Kingsley didn't want to deal with the situation naked, and seeing to it Lucius was out cold gave him at least time to pull on his favorite tired old shirt and the track pants he'd intended to wear before.

Then, he went around the bed and sat, back against the wall next to the door, as he considered his next move.

He wasn't a great Legilimens, but he'd enough skill to read surface thoughts if he tried. Occlumency was beyond him entirely, but memory charms were easy. He'd been a natural at those from the first lesson.

And regardless of anything else, he needed to see to it that Lucius didn't try this again. It wouldn’t work again, because now he was looking for it; however, it would most likely cause at least an unacceptable amount of conflict and dramatic complication in his life, because given that he did, in fact, still want the man, regardless of whether he intended to do anything about it, it was unlikely he'd manage subtlety in the event of another incursion.

Besides, tricked or not, sham or not, Lucius was married, and Kingsley didn't take those vows as anything other than binding.

He rested his forearms on his upraised knees and let his head fall forward, grimacing at the fact that because he did consider the marriage valid, he was now something of a hypocrite. However, done was done, and he was still a practical man at heart. Kicking himself wasn't useful unless he acted on the regret to prevent further stupidity.

He could kick himself fruitlessly later, to resolve the need for self-flagellation.

Finally, he looked up and pointed his wand to reinforce the sleeping charm again, then set to work. The surface thoughts were mundane and dreamlike--no surprise there--and largely about men Kingsley recognized: Lucius's friends and family, and the minimal digging beneath he was able to do suggested that Lucius had no more agenda than Kingsley had thought: getting what he wanted, which right now was Kingsley and which was eventually a son to continue the family line. And he did find Narcissa appealing enough, in a shallow and uninteresting way.

Huh.

The memory charm, then, was easy.

First, he stripped away Lucius's recollection of the circumstances of their fuck, replacing it with something more along the lines of a final goodbye. He supposed it had been, at that.

Then he went to work tinkering with material from conversations they'd had in the past, working quickly to increase Lucius's memories of how important his family was, his bloodline, his interests in maintaining the purity of both. It wasn't a particularly complex reorganization of memories Kingsley already knew existed; those things were important to Lucius. It was, however, time-consuming. If he wanted the memories to remain the way he was putting them, he needed the details to be right.

It occurred to him, somewhat abstractly, that it was too sodding bad he wasn't going to be able to use this example--well, he could, but he still reckoned his relationships were his own business--to pass the final memory adjustment module of his training, because he was doing some fucking complicated work, here. He waved that thought away and returned his full attention to the task at hand.

Forty minutes later, he stood and stretched, then went into the living room and pulled parchment and a quill out of his desk. He didn't keep an owl of his own, but he could use one from the place in Diagon Alley and be back before Lucius awoke and took his final leave. He needed to arrange a meeting.

:::::

Narcissa was a cool as he'd expected her to be, as cool as he recalled her being, the exact opposite of Bellatrix. She was neat and precise, her immaculate robe somehow reminiscent of yesterday's perfectly-penned letter agreeing to this meeting.

He nodded as he walked past, passing his hand over his newly-shaved head before going through into Muggle London and turning right along the road. He moved at a leisurely pace, waiting for her to catch up, and held out his elbow when she did. "Thank you for coming."

"Your request was intriguing," she said quietly. "Though if you intend to attempt blackmail, I should assure you, it won't end well."

Kingsley chuckled and turned with her into a side street and from there along a jagged path toward a small café. "I've no plans to blackmail you," he said. "Or him, actually. However, there's something you should know, and it didn't seem the sort of thing that ought to go on paper." He guided her into the café and to a table in the corner, then ordered them each a sandwich and a fizzy drink before casting a series of charms against observation.

"I don't particularly like roast beef," she said mildly, picking at her lunch. But I suppose you don't care about that."

"Not very much," Kingsley agreed. "I'll get to the point. You know who I am?"

"Of course. We were at school together."

He nodded. "And you know who I am, to your husband."

Narcissa raised a delicate pale eyebrow. "I ought to answer that I've no notion what you might mean."

"But you won't, because the fact that I've brought it up means you know I know you know, and there's no good reason."

She pulled off a corner of her bread and popped it in her mouth, chewing and swallowing before glancing up and him and nodding.

"Good. That's easier, then. I assume you're aware he intended to leave, over the issue of your… misrepresentation."

"You're quite blunt, aren't you? I was aware he was considering his options, as I was considering mine to prevent any foolish or hasty action. But you said 'intended,' as though that was no longer the case."

"I've changed that."

"You've…" She frowned. "I don't see why you'd tell me this and expect to leave with the knowledge."

"I don't think you have the skill to do anything about my knowledge, but either way, you and I have a common interest, and I'd like to see it turn out for the best."

"I see." She sipped at her drink, wrinkling her nose as bubbles popped against it. "I suppose I shall be required to guess?"

"No. It's like this. Your husband, as it happens, didn't have a particularly clear sense of obligation, regarding your marriage. In his upset over what he perceived to be a dreadful sin against him--your lie--he came to see me."

"So you've come to persuade me to let him go, in my own best interest?" Narcissa laughed. "You'll need to explain to me how it is that would be good for me."

"It wouldn’t. What would be good for you, would be for him to remain in the marriage and happy about it. I don't suppose you need uncomfortable details, but in short, I'm not interested in being his secret, which means I don't need him coming around expecting my attention."

She said nothing, taking another uncomfortable sip.

"Therefore, I have taken steps to alter--slightly, I give my word--his recollection of certain key events, one of which requires your assistance. It's nothing difficult."

"What have you altered?"

"Our most recent interaction, his interpretation of the word marriage, and his belief that you lied."

"So, he now believes--"

"That you lost the pregnancy. That you and he were both quite sad about it. All I require of you is that you not say anything to disabuse him of the notion, and I didn't change his attraction to you."

She stared at him for several seconds, until he wrapped up his sandwich to put in his pocket for later, and picked up the drink to swallow in several long gulps. "And your price?" she finally asked.

"I already said. His absence. Keep him in your bed, fervently trying again, preferably without immediate success, if you take my meaning, until he remains there of habit as well as of a sense of belonging. And keep him the fuck away from me. If he comes around me again, I'm as likely to break his nose as say hello." He stood. "So. He's all yours. Happy Christmas."

He left her sitting there, blinking at his language and tone, and headed to work. As he walked back toward Wizarding London, he contemplated how to eventually contact her again--once she'd got herself that heir, probably--to blur this memory just a little, and then as the snow started once again, considered the importance of hats on bare heads in December.

He wasn’t sure how long it would be before the scent of shampoo stopped making him irrationally angry, but it didn't look to be especially soon. Maybe he could impose on Arthur's wife to spare him something warm and woolen.

:::::

Kingsley surveyed the ruins of the Great Hall from his spot in the corner against the mostly-intact west wall, arms crossed as he leaned. He was tired, though he supposed compared to some, his night hadn't been so bad. He watched across the floor as Harry pulled on his Invisibility Cloak--good for the Lovegood girl; she reminded him of another quirky girl he knew. Had known. Damn--and then as Harry's friends took their leave, stopping in the doorway to glance about before heading in the general direction of the Headmaster's office. Kingsley assumed Harry was with them and went back to watching.

He had plenty to do, of course, given he'd been named Interim Minister forty minutes earlier, and he would get to it, but he thought if the world fell apart if left unattended for a couple of hours at dawn, they bloody well deserved what came. He was going to take an hour to himself unless something actually gave him a specific reason not to.

He let his gaze wander along the tables and around the room again, passing over the line of covered bodies at the end of the room. What a bloody waste. Too many, on both sides, and too many friends. He pushed away from the wall and walked along the row, pausing several times to consider a pair of scuffed boots or a patched cuff, or unnaturally still mouse-brown hair.

Damn again.

Finally, he reached the end of the line and pinched the bridge of his nose before shoving his hand up and over the smooth crown of his head.

As always--and while he'd never quite intended the effect, it was now a habit of thought just as much as a reminder--the feeling of that particular bare skin reminded him of a time nearly twenty years earlier and of why he didn't do relationships. He knew he'd been partly at fault, all those years ago; he'd been entirely right in his early assessment that he wasn't much cut out for relationships. He'd taken from the experience a clear understanding of his own capacity to act harshly out of anger, a trait he'd spent a lot of time in the intervening years training into a tool rather than a blind response, and had long since stopped being angry about shampoo, but he'd kept the haircut. For one thing, it was convenient, and for another, it served as a reminder to pay attention to what he was doing, in his personal life as well as, well, now he supposed his life would be somewhat depressingly public.

After a moment of reflection, he walked slowly between the rows formed by the long House tables, stopping when he reached the hunched and bedraggled trio of Malfoys, huddled together and glancing up at him.

After a too-long pause, Lucius spoke first. "Minister."

Kingsley nodded. "Lucius." He'd spoken to him many times over the years, though generally not with Narcissa present, and never with their only son--who looked quite like his father. He wondered briefly whether, once Lucius had had the heir he needed, he'd gone back to finding young men to decorate his bed, or whether Narcissa had refused to bear another child. Not that he needed to know. He did need to learn, from all possible sources, what their hand in the night's events had been; Harry's initial brief words with him had been garbled, but it sounded as though they might have been, if not precisely on the right side, at least uninvolved in the true carnage and mostly concerned with self-protection.

Some things never changed.

He held Lucius's eyes until the silence became awkward, then turned his attention to Narcissa. "And Narcissa, and Draco, I see." He let them refuse to squirm for another moment yet, then added, "I'm sure you'll remain where the Ministry can find you."

Lucius's face, still smooth despite his flyaway hair and bloodshot eyes, bunched slightly into a frown. "I believe--"

Narcissa cut him off with a raised hand, and looked up at Kingsley. "I suspect the Minister will treat us fairly, Lucius. He only wants to remind us not to take a much-needed holiday to the south of France. Minister, you certainly know where we'll be, though should you want to discuss matters in a less public context, I'm sure we could come to you."

Kingsley raised his eyebrows and nodded again. He had, the spring she was pregnant, arranged to run into her again, but she shouldn’t remember that, and something about her eyes said perhaps she did. Not that he could ask. Well, if she hadn't attempted to trade on her knowledge yet, he supposed she never would. And if she did, he'd deal with that when he came to it. "Then I expect we'll be in touch," he said. "Lucius. Draco."

As he started to step back, Narcissa smoothed Lucius's hair, then turned to Draco and lifted his chin to examine a bruise under his eye. Kingsley was, evidently, dismissed.

He ran his hand over his scalp one more time and walked on toward the doors; his couple of hours was up, and he had a Ministry to set to rights.

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