Kyra (storm_dancer) wrote in luciusfqf, @ 2007-12-29 13:57:00 |
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Current mood: | accomplished |
Current music: | NIN: Head Like A Hole. (fitting, yes?) |
Long Forgotten
Title: “Long Forgotten”
Author: Storm Dancer (Kyra Neko-Rei)
Rating: Let’s make it an NC-17, just to be safe. (Strangely enough, the creaking furniture is completely innocent.)
Pairings: Lucius Malfoy/Lord Voldemort.
Warnings: Nothing really. Voldemort’s a bit more affectionate than canon; Lucius is a bit more submissive than canon. Something of a dom/sub relationship, mirroring their professional affiliation.
Summary: : Lucius comes across an item given him over a decade before, and remembers the events leading up to its bestowal.
Prompt: An item long forgotten, the colour gold and the sound of creaking furniture.
Notes: Disclaimer: Neither Lucius nor the world he inhabits nor the prompt is anything resembling mine. Timeline: Immediately pre-Chamber-of-Secrets, with flashbacks to slightly before Voldemort’s attack on the Potter family.
Author’s Notes: I took a couple minor liberties with Voldemort’s pre-resurrection, pre-downfall appearance. The book describes him as dark-haired and handsome as a young man, so here he’s got black hair and I decided he’d look best with it long. He would also have had time to continue his snake-face makeover a bit since the interview with Dumbledore over the teaching position, so I imagine he’s sort of grown into it a bit.
The main library at Malfoy Manor was an elaborate showcase, meant to impress. Texts selected more for their impressive-sounding titles than any interest the family had in reading them occupied prominent positions; intricately carved bookshelves lined the walls; showy leather chairs stood in small arrangements pleasing to the eye, attended by decorative tables topped with exquisitely-wrought candelabras and sculptures and a solid-gold wizard's chess set encrusted with emeralds on one side and sapphires on the other; a truly massive fireplace towered over the works.
The library Lucius entered, the secret library, was something else entirely.
It was an upstairs room, almost cozy, and had the air of a place long forgotten. There was no dust---no dust would dare settle here, Lucius imagined, although he knew full well that the house-elf cleaned the place---but the thick carpet, colors muted with age, swallowed his footsteps and the candles he lit left the shadowed shelves untouched; the entire effect was of a place undisturbed for centuries and certainly not disturbed now, not by the stately wizard who was the twenty-fifth Malfoy son to inherit this manor and this library. In entering the place, Lucius became part of it, an ageless, contemplative being, one with the shadows and the softness and the still and silent air.
The candles he brought in barely lit anything. The candles grouped around the room would light it fairly comfortably, but not yet. The sun was still above the horizon; Lucius waved his wand and the western window's drapes opened. Golden sunlight illuminated the room; the room remained undisturbed, a dragon sleeping as quietly in the sun as it had in shadow. Lucius smiled, and settled into his favorite upholstered chair.
In the silence it let out a truly spectacular groan and Lucius jumped back up as though stung, whirling to face the perceived threat.
The back of his shoulder connected painfully with a shelf, hard enough to jar both him and it; a small book tumbled from the highest ledge and Lucius, his reflexes at their zenith, caught it on the way down.
He leaned back against the shelf again, pulse hammering in his veins, and glared at the chair. Reached down to pull his wand out from his cane and either silence the thing or curse it into matchsticks, only to become consciously aware that he held a book in his hands. He turned it over to see what it was, and his breath caught in his throat as the golden letters spelling TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE stared back up at him.
Voldemort.
The name, never spoken by any save the man whose name it was, burned through him like the casting of a nonverbal spell. It summoned memories, and Lucius closed his eyes; the warm golden sunlight came through his eyelids and tinged his thoughts the color of blood and molten gold; he leaned back against the bookcase and remembered.
Red eyes burned with the intensity of the sun, and yet were cold and emotionless as those of a snake---
Lucius smiled. "My Lord," he whispered softly, and imagined the book grew warmer in his hands---
Red eyes burned and yet coldly regarded him; Lord Voldemort smiled and spoke softly, "Lucius, my friend. I have something to give you . . . if you are devoted enough to be worthy of it." An alabaster face, slightly more than human; the smile was mainly in the eyes, in the cheekbones that rose sharp above hollowed cheeks and a strong jaw; the lips, not quite smiling now, were full and pale---speaking of devotion, as though there were any question---but such was his prerogative. Lucius sank to his knees and bent further still, touching his forehead to the stone.
They were outside, alone, in Malfoy Manor’s gardens; Narcissa was off elsewhere, showing off the infant Draco to her remaining sister perhaps; Lucius loved both of them, but not when Lord Voldemort was present, certainly not now, when he was standing godlike over Lucius in the glorious gold of the setting sun, light playing over his achingly beautiful features and his crimson eyes commanding, demanding, and simply having everything he might desire from Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius finished his obeisance and looked up, drawn like a moth to a shimmering torch; Lord Voldemort regarded him coolly, contemplating something; he made the slightest gesture with one graceful hand, and Lucius remained kneeling on the polished flagstones of his own garden, eyes drinking in the sight of the greater man.
Lord Voldemort’s black hood was cast off behind him, and black hair spilled around his shoulders; he was taller than Lucius by two inches when Lucius stood up straight, and by quite a bit more than that when he bade Lucius kneel. The robes he wore were of finest diaphanous silk, purest ebony; a gleaming silver snake with emeralds for eyes twined around one fine-boned wrist; that hand held his wand in long and graceful fingers.
Lord Voldemort’s lips, full and pale, finally curved up in a smile. “I know what you’re thinking, Lucius,” he said softly. “I always know what you’re thinking.”
Lucius shivered slightly, feeling exposed, and rather liking it. “Of course,” he said, smiling slightly himself. “My Lord sees all there is of me.”
Lord Voldemort’s smile became a smirk. “I think sometimes, Lucius, that you make some effort to be transparent.” The tone was mocking, and Lucius flushed slightly. Lord Voldemort continued, “But . . . since you’re so willing that I should see all of you, I think I shall. Remove your clothing, Lucius.” The master of Malfoy Manor pulled out his wand to cast his robes off all at once, but Lord Voldemort held up his hand. “No. Set your wand on the ground and do it yourself.”
Lucius placed the wand upon the ground as he was bid, and the Dark Lord motioned him away from it. So he was to lower himself for his master; he was to be as the lowest of human creatures, a Muggle, for his Lord’s amusement. A light hum of pleasure ran through his body as this thought passed through his mind; he calmly cast his clothing on the ground and finally stood before Lord Voldemort unclothed. “Kneel,” Lord Voldemort commanded, and Lucius knelt.
Lucius, in the secret library of Malfoy Manor, opened his robes and brought his hand to his swelling cock. His hand was cool against it, compared with the warmth of the sun; the gold against his eyes had more of a red tinge, and the book in his other hand was hot to the touch, giving him the impression of molten gold.
In the garden, the sun’s light was red-gold, and Lord Voldemort was the picture of fluid, perfect grace as he pulled off his own robes and let the expensive silk pool around his feet. His boots, soft leather and silver trim, he left on, and Lucius did not disguise his desire---he never did---as his eyes traveled hungrily up his master’s thin body---legs and stomach and chest and wonderful sculpted shoulders, and then down again to his rising cock. Lord Voldemort stepped forward, and Lucius brought his hands up to the juncture between his master’s torso and thighs, and wrapped his lips around Lord Voldemort’s thick and pleasantly hard penis and drew as much of it into his mouth as he could.
Strong and graceful fingers gripped Lucius’s hair, pulling pleasantly at the scalp, and as Lucius stroked his tongue deliriously along the underside he felt the tip of Lord Voldemort’s wand trace sinuous lines on his neck and shoulder. He did not recognize the spell, but some magic was obviously at work, as wherever the thing touched it caused a sensation barely on the edge of pain. He shuddered, pleased immensely and heady with the knowledge of whose cock he was sucking. The hand in his hair twisted slightly, and the wand went from stroking to tapping, provoking slightly sharper pain. “Yes, Lucius,” Lord Voldemort spoke. “Please me. Show me your devotion. Show me all of it.”
Lucius did; the times Lord Voldemort allowed Lucius this intimacy were rare and much treasured by the younger wizard; always he was careful to make it perfect, as well as to enjoy as fully as he could the taste and texture of Lord Voldemort’s cock against his lips and tongue, the soft skin of his thighs against Lucius’s fingertips, and always, the utter, enthralling thrill of offering this complete devotion. Lord Voldemort was pleased as well, obviously, and as he came he tightened his grip on Lucius’s hair and drew the wand up sharply along Lucius’s neck and the side of his face. Lucius jerked slightly as the spell sent a vivid shock tingling through his flesh, and swallowed every drop of fluid as he slowly drew his lips away from his master’s cock.
Lord Voldemort regarded Lucius with slitted eyes. “Lie down now,” he said.
Lucius did. The flagstones were cool beneath his back and he still ached with desire. Submitting still further increased his ardor, and he struggled to calm himself---after all, he was still a wizard, not a quivering puddle of some kind of semi-liquid dessert. He lost the battle quite spectacularly as Lord Voldemort sank down to sit on the ground beside him, and could not suppress what was far too close to a whimper as the Dark Lord reached out one graceful, long-fingered hand and wrapped it around his cock.
With such attention from such a person, it did not take long; Lucius savored with every fiber of his being each soft stroke and light caress, and exactly as he came the Dark Lord set one finger of his other hand on top of one of Lucius’s nipples. Lucius couldn’t have shut himself up if he tried; even holding onto consciousness was a bit much for him at the moment.
He opened his eyes a bit later to find a pair of crimson ones regarding him with a look that reminded him, oddly enough, that Lord Voldemort had once applied for a teaching position at Hogwarts. Lucius let his gaze drop slightly, and noticed that a few tiny, glistening drops of white dotted the Dark Lord’s slightly-smiling lips. Comprehending, Lucius smiled himself, rose to a sitting position and kissed him.
Lord Voldemort opened his mouth and kissed him back; this had not happened before and Lucius reveled in it. At some point during the kiss he felt himself being drawn into an embrace and he returned it wholeheartedly. When they broke, both gasped for breath for a second, and the Dark Lord flashed a cocky smile; for a second he appeared the way Lucius had first seen him, young and human and full of the brash arrogance of youth. For a moment, the Dark Lord was informal--- “So that’s what all the excitement is about,” he said thoughtfully.
Lucius stared at him for a second. “That was your . . . first---”
“First ‘kiss,’ yess,” Lord Voldemort said, amused at Lucius’s reaction. “It is not unworth doing,” he continued thoughtfully. Lucius smiled and shook his head.
In the library Lucius thought of the Dark Lord’s amusement and innocence as he gripped his cock tightly, and came, and collapsed into the chair; the chair creaked again but he hardly noticed this time. He stared at the book in his other hand, remembering the other significant thing about that night; he stood up again, stalked out of the library and into the washroom next to it, cleaned his hands, and then hurried back to the library and rifled through a drawer in search of quill and ink.
“Now Lucius,” the Dark Lord said slightly later, the two of them having dressed again and continued their walk through the gardens, “I have something important that I wish to entrust to your care.”
“My Lord?” Lucius asked, staggered by the concept. However affectionate a lover he might be for short periods of time, the Dark Lord was highly jealous of his own magical workings. Anything he considered important was unlikely to be mentioned to anyone else at all. But Lord Voldemort was indeed taking out an object from a pocket of his robe and holding it out to Lucius.
“If there is ever any need for the use of this, Lucius, I will be at such a time unable to use it. You will keep it safe for me?”
Lucius took the book from his master’s hands, his mind spinning---the word, horcrux, bouncing off the insides of his skull---and bowed. “My Lord, I shall guard it with my life, and more.”
Lord Voldemort laughed, then, for once all delight and no malice. “I will never die, Lucius. And if you serve me well, there will come a time when your life will be all you ever require to guard it as well as it deserves.”
Lucius bowed again. “My Lord.”
The sun had just barely slipped over the horizon when Lucius set the inkwell on a small table by the loquacious chair. The mess he’d made vanished with a wave of his wand; he could technically let the house-elf clean it but that involved letting the house-elf know about it, and in the unlikely but still plausible event that somebody accidentally handed the creature a sock or whatever he really didn’t care for word to get out regarding what kind of messes Lucius tended to make in his library. He lit candles, now, all around the room, and his eyes rested on the golden horizon only for a second before they settled to the golden name on the front of the diary, flickering in the golden candlelight.
The chair creaked as he sat back in it. “Oh, silencio already,” he snapped.
The chair was, finally, silent. Lucius dipped the quill in the inkwell and wrote on the first page of the diary, “My Lord, I am Lucius Malfoy, your servant.”
Like blood soaking into white silk, words appeared in response on the page, the letters from the front cover in a different order. “I am Lord Voldemort.”