FIC: For Refuge [Harry/Lucius/Ron, NC-17]
Nov. 11th, 2005 02:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kennahijjaTitle: For Refuge
Author: Hijja (kennahijja@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17 (angst, a bit of kink and violence)
Pairing: Lucius/Harry/Ron
Length: about 7500 words
Summary: Harry is determined to exorcise his demons...
Note: Most abject thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
annephoenix, ferretgm, dracos_doll and rfachir for the beta! And as always, hummelchen talked me through the plot :).
Harry felt Ron's hand on the small of his back as he was urged gently into the room. He had the impulse to blink, but the cloth covering his eyes made that quite impossible. He bit down on the side of his tongue, trying hard not to tremble. He trusted Ron, of course, but...
"Good evening, Mr Potter."
Even knowing it would come, Harry jumped at the coldness of the voice. There was a lump sitting in his throat as he swallowed, so he said nothing.
Harry had not seen Lucius Malfoy since he'd stood as witness for the Binding Oath Malfoy took with Ron a year ago. Harry had been the only one willing to do so, in a situation where even Arthur and Molly had refused to acknowledge their youngest son's choice. He had watched the green tendrils of fire twist and creep around their wrists, still wondering whether he'd missed something when he'd raked through Ron's brain with Legilimency the night before. He had never understood what had made them go from partners in the Order to highly unlikely lovers. He still wasn't quite convinced that there hadn't been any Dark Arts tampering on Lucius' part.
Their ceremony had been the last time Harry had left Grimmauld Place for any length of time.
Perhaps, if Harry hadn't been so hell-bent on going after Snape and Voldemort after the disastrous end of his sixth year, he'd not left Ron to keep an eye on Malfoy when he decided to throw in his lot with the Order. They hadn't been lovers back then, Harry knew. Ron and Hermione were still courting, their habitual bickering replaced by mutual worrying, but deeper for it. Only much later, Ron had mentioned, over a glass too many of Firewhisky in Harry's refuge at Grimmauld Place, that even looking at another woman brought back the memory of Hermione's death.
And though Harry had half wished Ron would stop visiting him and reminding him that there was a world out there beyond Grimmauld Place, he couldn't have helped but observe how Ron became more relaxed – happier – over time. Supreme bastard and former Death Eater, Malfoy seemed to be good for him.
Ron's hand left his back, and Harry's thoughts scattered like a flock of sparrows. He could hear soft steps coming to a halt beside him.
"Ronald." There wasn't much room for softness in Lucius Malfoy, Harry knew that very well, but his tone was lower in this second acknowledgement, less metallically bright with hostility when he spoke Ron's name. "You brought him."
"You said you wanted him."
Harry could not quite pinpoint when his best friend had acquired this air of calm – perhaps after Hermione, or after the war, or because living with a man of such volatile temper as Malfoy made it a necessity.
"He agreed, then?" Malfoy's tone remained unreadable.
"Would I have brought him by force?" Ron inquired, deceptively mild. And Malfoy, whom Harry hadn’t seen smiling once since Narcissa’s and Draco’s death, actually chuckled.
There was a moment of silence, and then Harry felt Ron’s hand tugging at his arm, drawing him towards the former Death Eater.
“Come, mate,” Ron murmured, soothing and with an amused undertone as if he was sharing a joke with Malfoy. “Lucius won’t hurt you.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Malfoy's voice again, sharp as before and not a bit less confrontational.
"He won't do anything you can't bear," Ron amended, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulder as he tugged him forward. Harry allowed it, although every fibre in his body tensed against the thought of being led blind into Malfoy's hands. But he'd come this far...
He couldn't help a reflexive jerk as cold fingers wrapped around his wrist, and he was pulled forward against an unyielding body. Harry bit down on his lower lip, eyes almost impossibly wide behind the blindfold. Malfoy's other hand grabbed his chin, and a hint of colour heated Harry's cheeks as he felt himself being studied. He could feel Malfoy's robe against his skin, soft cloth with a scrape of brocade. Malfoy let go of his chin and drew Harry's robe off his shoulders, leaving him clad in only a shirt and thin trousers. Malfoy attacked the buttons on the shirt as well, oblivious to the hairs rising on Harry's arms.
It was warm enough in the room, but Harry was freezing. He felt Malfoy's fingertips running over his chest, tracing one nipple with a sharp nail, then taking hold of the other and squeezing. Harry sucked in air at the sudden, brilliant burst of pain. Tears sprang to his eyes behind the blindfold, and he tried to force his face into impassivity as Malfoy kept on squeezing as if he intended to reduce the inoffensive little nub to a bloody pulp. Harry's back arched involuntarily and he writhed for a short moment before a strangled whimper escaped his lips. The pain was nothing compared to the curses the Death Eaters had thrown at him as they had circled his fallen form, trapped in Voldemort's Dark Charm. But the worst ever since.
Malfoy laughed, sharp and ugly, and let go. The pain flared again as Harry's nipple was released, but Malfoy just grabbed his shoulders and shoved him backwards. Harry screeched, flailing to keep on his feet, but then arms wrapped around him from behind and Ron's solid body cushioned the impact and broke his fall.
But the comfort of Ron's embrace was short-lived. Harry heard Malfoy approaching, two quick, measured steps, and then his mouth was on Harry's chest, surprisingly hot for such a cold bastard, tongue insistently worrying Harry's abused nipple. Harry arched his back against Ron's chest, trying to make sense of the conflicting stabs of pain and arousal that assaulted his body. Malfoy leaned over to trouble Harry's other nipple, soft, long hair tickling over Harry's side.
It was almost amazing, Harry realised, thoughts muzzy and groin afire, how he could react so spectacularly even as his mind was half-paralysed with terror at the man's sheer presence. The voice and the pain brought back the Death Eaters, circling his helpless, blinded form like hungry jackals. But Malfoy's provocative tongue, and the way Harry's hip pressed against the slight bulge of Ron's groin, were solidly present and real.
Harry's state of arousal did not remain unacknowledged. Malfoy lifted his mouth off Harry's chest with a chuckle, and then his hand reached for Harry's erection, grabbing it through the material of Harry's loose-fitting trousers. Harry bit back a yelp at the sudden roughness, his hand coming up reflexively to bat Malfoy away. He gasped as Malfoy grabbed his wrist hard enough to make his pulse hammer against his skin, and twisted Harry's arm behind his back. The soft fabric of Malfoy's dressing gown felt like a cloying shroud against Harry's upper body.
"I do not think that resistance is part of the bargain." Malfoy's breath whispered over Harry's face, and Harry shivered in his cruel grip. "Do you need to be restrained, Potter?" The man's lips nearly touched Harry's cheek in a ghostly caress, but it were his words rather than the sudden, crushing squeeze around his wrist that made Harry tremble.
"No," he gasped, hairs rising on his arms again as he shrank back against Ron's chest.
"I fail to be quite convinced, Potter."
Harry's wild headshake sent his hair flying. He remembered being restrained, flat on his back and unable to flex a muscle while wands pointed at him and curses rained down on his blistering flesh. And laughter...
"No!" he cried again, and Ron caught his hand before it could tug off the blindfold, cupping his icy fingers.
"No, Lucius." Ron's voice, quiet and calm. "He will not defy you again."
So certain, Harry thought breathlessly. He sagged against Ron and took deep, calming breaths.
"As you wish, Ronald."
Malfoy released Harry's throbbing wrist, and then his hand was back on Harry's groin, kneading his softened prick through the fabric with palm and greedy fingers. Harry groaned at the touch, unable to stop arousal from crawling back into his turgid organ, unable to keep it from straining into Malfoy's hand.
Then Malfoy's fingers slid up to undo the drawstrings of his trousers, leaving them to slide down his thighs and to pool on the floor around his toes. Harry's ears heated up - he could feel Malfoy's cool eyes on his body, appraising and most likely judging him the height of unremarkable. Plain, and pretentious.
Malfoy could have almost anyone who didn't discriminate on account of the Dark Arts. Ron, at least, had grown out of his gangling teenage body, lanky limbs turning to smooth strength, cheekbones sharpening into features that were almost attractive. Harry knew what he himself looked like – too pale, too thin from months of hiding himself away in Grimmauld Place, too scared to venture out for provision and rarely feeling up to even leaving his bedroom and braving the vast, cold kitchen and the hallways full of disapproving Black portraits.
Harry gasped out loud as the long fingers curled around the base of his cock again, and then fabric rustled and warm lips closed around the tip, a bold tongue swiping over the tiny slit on top...
He almost screamed at the sudden sensation, incredulity washing over him at the thought that this was Lucius Malfoy kneeling before him, Harry's prick in his mouth. Behind him, Ron sucked air into his lungs, his hands trembling around Harry's fingers.
The broad, soft tongue slithered over the head of Harry's prick, and then up the underside until Harry strained deeper into the seductive mouth. The first touch of suction tore a cry from his lips after all, too sweet, too sharp, too dangerously overwhelming. Any more of this, and he'd end up pleading for the man to never stop suckling him. When Malfoy's lips slid slowly off the curve of Harry's prick, the sudden gush of cold air on his saliva-warmed flesh was almost painful.
"I'm so glad you approve, Ronald." Over Ron's audible breathing, Harry heard the sarcastic tone in Malfoy's voice. "How about getting him ready for me instead of just gaping?"
Ron gave a noncommittal snort, and the snicker he muffled against his hair told Harry his best friend was laughing.
"You could employ that insolent tongue of yours to the task, Ronald," Malfoy sneered, voice fairly dripping condescension. "That might be one proper use for it."
Heat flooded Harry's face when he figured out the barb, and his buttocks clenched nervously at the thought.
"That might be a little too much for Harry," Ron replied.
"I think you pay too much heed to the sensibilities of a man who had no qualms about worrying you sick for months."
Ron's hand curved down to cup Harry's buttock. "He didn't do it on purpose. You know that, Lucius."
"He did it nonetheless."
Harry felt a sting and a deep longing for his safe little bedroom in Grimmauld Place. He cringed and tried to turn away.
"No, don't," Ron murmured against his hair, and detoured his fingers in a fleeting brush along the underside of Harry's cock where it strained up towards Harry's belly. Harry gasped and squirmed, guilt forcefully wiped from his mind by the wicked touch.
Then Ron's hands left Harry's body, and Harry felt him angling backwards, picking something off the table. He heard the faint tinkle of a lid being lifted from a porcelain container. It was amazing how not being able to see heightened not only his susceptibility to touch, but also his hearing and imagination.
A tap to the small of his back urged him gently forward. Ron stopped him after three nervous steps, guiding Harry's hands on the plush headrest of a couch for balance.
"Spread your legs a little," Ron said, then added, "Thanks," when Harry obeyed. Harry could hear the smile that coloured Ron's voice, and blushed even more as Ron's finger lightly ran along the now-revealed cleft between his buttocks. "Now just lean over the headrest, mate."
Harry swallowed, shoulder blades tensing at the thought of how that would leave him exposed and vulnerable, and he didn't know where Malfoy was... But then, that was the point, wasn't it?
He slid down along the soft fabric of the headrest – it felt like satin or something – until his hands came to rest on the cushioned seat of the couch. It was a pretty high headrest, he realised when he relaxed his tense leg muscles experimentally, and found he had to stand on tiptoes with his arse obscenely high up in the air. And the fabric, so soft against his skin, still felt rough and scraped where his aching cock was trapped between it and his belly.
Then something wriggled under his left palm, and Harry startled back with a yelp. Ron chuckled and pushed him back down.
"Animated wyvern stitching in the coverlet," he explained. "They love to fly around a bit."
"You might find it... interesting in certain areas." Malfoy's slow drawl was only a few steps away, closer than Harry would have preferred. As if on cue, the tickling scrape repeated itself, right where Harry's cock was pressed against the couch. Harry flinched against Ron's hands cupping his arse. The rough stimulation of his over-tender head made him almost oblivious to the finger laid along his crack. He clawed the cushions for purchase, and found his breath only when the invisible wyvern had wriggled free from underneath him.
Ron's finger slipped deeper, slick with fragrant ointment that smelled of lemon and herbs, and experimentally traced Harry's pucker. The slight pressure left Harry light-headed, and he wondered if his face would ever cool down to a normal colour again. He'd... taken care of himself with a cleaning charm before Ron arrived to pick him up, had even touched himself there as if to try and prepare himself for the real thing, but this was...
He must look ridiculous to Ron, even more so to Malfoy, who probably observed his humiliation with glee.
"Relax, Harry," Ron advised, and then his index finger began to press inside and wriggle, slippery and insistent and suddenly further in than Harry had expected. It didn't quite hurt, but left Harry feeling like an over-stuffed turkey. He squirmed reflexively, which made the intrusion feel bigger, and more painful. Ron bent forward, finger angling to the side in a way that had Harry gulping, and laid a dry kiss on the goose-fleshed skin between Harry's shoulder blades.
"Shhh – just calm down. I won't hurt you."
Harry did not feel quite up to heeding such sage advice, and the sudden dip of the couch next to his right arm made him jump. Ron used this moment of distraction to slowly rotate his finger in to the knuckles.
A feeble, mournful sound escaped Harry's lips, and he nearly screamed when Malfoy's hand took hold of his chin, craning back his neck almost painfully to study his face. It was... unnerving, being scrutinised without being able to see in return. But the black spellcloth did its job admirably well, covering Harry's eyes without pressure or cutting into his skin. Just plunging him into complete darkness.
"Yes, Potter, keep your head up," Malfoy sneered. "I want to see your face when Ronald works inside you."
Indeed, Ron had used Malfoy's interference to slide the full length of his index finger into Harry, where it stuck like something far too big, too alien. And the whole thing was kind of gross too, thinking about it... Ron wriggled the invasive digit in tiny circles and sweat beaded on Harry's forehead. Then a particularly energetic wriggle brushed by... something inside him and a spark of heat shot up Harry's spine, blazing into his brain and then down to send another layer of hardness into his trapped cock. He bit down on his lower lip to stifle another embarrassing mewl.
"It looks like you got him there." Malfoy snickered and Ron repeated the movement more purposefully. Squirming under the onslaught of another delicious jolt, Harry came close to yelling at his friend, but then had to fight a noise of protest as Ron's finger pulled almost free of him. The muscles of his entrance were stretched painfully for a moment as a second finger joined the first, rotating deeper in smooth, careful circles, and Harry inadvertently tightened his muscles to hold them inside. The pressure of Ron's fingers opening him was just shy of pain, but Harry found himself flattening against the couch to take his weight off his toes as he spread his thighs a little bit further to ease their progress towards that pleasurable spot.
Malfoy's thumb curved over his lips and Harry parted them without thinking. It slipped in so easily, almost a parody of the tight press of Ron's fingers in his arse, and when Harry's tongue brushed nervously against the digit, it tasted faintly of skin and the clove oil the man must have handled earlier. Bitter, like his person.
Harry's wayward mind piped up with the thought of what Malfoy's cock might taste like in his mouth. Reflexively, he closed his lips and sucked lightly. The rough pad of Malfoy's thumb stroked his tongue, and the sensation spread right down into Harry's prick.
Ron leaned in and draped his body over Harry's back, pressing his cheek against Harry's for a moment.
"You look... amazing like this."
His fingers remained buried in Harry's depths, brushing in slow, regular circles along Harry's prostate, leaving him shaking with arousal against the couch, his prick chafing where it was trapped between the headrest and his belly.
"Quite," Malfoy agreed coldly, slipping his finger from Harry's mouth. "And I think he's ready for me now."
The couch dipped again when Malfoy rose, and Harry nearly screamed as another wyvern escaped from under him and wriggled along his hip. Ron laid a kiss on the tense knot of neck muscles atop Harry's spine and carefully pulled out his fingers. Harry would have mourned the loss had he not been so nervous at the thought of Malfoy touching him as intimately. He tried to scrabble backwards, feeling too vulnerable and prone with his arse on display over the headrest, but harsh fingers grabbed his neck, annihilating the touch of Ron's lips, and forced him back into place.
"Have you ever done this before?" Malfoy's lips almost touched the outer shell of Harry's ear.
Harry shook his head mutely. He did not want to confess it aloud, and was scared of how his voice would sound if he tried.
"Oh, good!" Harry shivered at the satisfied tone of Malfoy's voice. "I’d hate for this to be easy on you."
Cloth rustled and found its way to the floor, and Ron took Malfoy's place on the couch next to Harry. He wrapped calming fingers around Harry's wrist to ease out his tense fist. The lemony scent of the oil Ron had used filled Harry's nostrils once more, and the slick sounds that overcame the faint roar of blood in Harry's ears told him Malfoy was preparing himself. He bit his lip.
When the same claw-like hands that had held his neck gripped his hips, Harry stiffened with terror. It was too possessive, too ripe with the potential of violence. Malfoy had his wand where Harry had come unarmed; he could just stun Ron and curse Harry, or do anything to him he'd ever dreamed of. Malfoy had always despised him, and was the kind to nurture his hatred. Yes, Harry had killed Voldemort who'd ordered the deaths of Malfoy's wife and son, but then he'd also brought about the destruction of the diary Horcrux that had prompted Voldemort's rage against Lucius in the first place...
Harry's nails dug painfully into his palms when Malfoy grabbed his buttocks in both hands and pulled them apart, leaving cold air to register against his oiled opening. Ron leaned forward to place a kiss on the corner of Harry's mouth, and Harry leaned into the touch reflexively, desperate for a distraction from the sharp rap of Malfoy's knuckles against his pucker. Harry's whole body was tense with fear. He only relaxed fragmentarily when the knuckles vanished and the head of Malfoy's cock pressed against his entrance. It still felt huge as it began to insist, and Harry sucked a nervous breath of air out of Ron's lungs as he gasped.
The insides of Harry's eyelids seemed to bleed red for the endless moment Malfoy took to shove himself inside Harry. It was too much – Malfoy went too fast, too rough, and Ron's gentle preparation and soothing oil could not contend with Harry's muscles, knotting in resistance.
Malfoy seemed oblivious to his discomfort, or maybe he noticed and just didn't care. Harry felt the parting press of Ron's mouth against his lips. A touch that was meant to be reassuring, but only left Harry empty and scared.
He managed to suck in another breath when Malfoy pulled out a little, leaving his channel to relax ever so slightly, but Malfoy placed a heavy hand on Harry's back, putting an end to his pained squirming and trapping him effectively against the back of the couch. Then Malfoy shoved the whole length of his prick back in, and Harry found himself clawing fitfully at the satin upholstery in order not to screech at the top of his lungs. It hurt so much that he did not dare to struggle, because that would make the scalding pain flare even more. He lay limp under the onslaught, letting it rock him into the upholstery like a rag doll, just hoping to ride out the pain. It could not go on forever, even if it felt like forever, felt as if he was a lobster being scalded from the inside.
When Malfoy had pushed himself fully inside him, Harry's back was covered with a film of cold sweat that had to leave smears on the expensive fabric of the couch. The bastard gave a few shallow thrusts, eased by the lubrication that seemed to work for Malfoy, but did nothing to loosen the screaming muscles of Harry's arse. Harry dug his teeth into the back of his hand to stifle the cries that wanted to escape.
Malfoy pressed up against him, ran his hand down Harry's wet back from neck to tailbone, and laughed.
"Our brave little hero," he mocked. "Now, Ron, come here. He feels so very good around me – entirely at my mercy, and tight and trembling... I want you to take him with me."
It took hearing Ron's shocked gasp over Harry's own harsh breathing for Harry to comprehend the meaning, but then he squirmed in fright. Malfoy's fingers gripped the back of his neck again and pushed his face into the couch pillow in an unsubtle warning. Harry saw bright red against his eyelids again for a moment, unable to breathe even if his nose had been free.
"What?" Harry hadn't heard a more merciless voice since Voldemort. "You were so entranced by his lovely arse a moment ago, weren't you?"
"Merlin, no. Please, Lucius, don't make me do that!" Ron's sounded as panicked as Harry himself.
Ron, who had killed Lucius' old friend Snape, after Snape had led the Death Eater attack that burned the premises of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes to ashes with Fred, George and their shy young assistant still inside... Was there still anger between them, and did Lucius use him, Harry, to settle their scores?
"You swore he'd be ready. You swore you would obey me in everything. Am I to demand an Unbreakable Vow to ensure the loyalty of my own consort?"
Harry heard Ron sucking in a breath that was almost a sob; it rattled in his throat, and Harry felt Ron's hand trembling against his flank. He wanted to beg him for help so very badly – beg him to send Malfoy away, to stop the pain, to take him back home to Grimmauld Place, to not touch him. But he couldn't. His last trembling vestiges of pride did not allow him to plead in front of Malfoy, or to plead at all. He had asked for this, if not quite for this... He would not ask Ron to choose between them!
So Harry didn't speak; he just dug nails into the cushions and tried to empty his mind in the feeble hope that not being quite there might dull his nerve ends as well. He felt Malfoy slip free of him, still hard, and then his hands came round to spread Harry's thighs wider, making room for Ron between them until Harry was spread painfully wide, knees pressed into the headrest. His feet had come off the floor entirely now, so that he was held up, pinned there by Malfoy's body.
Ron uttered the softest of sighs as Malfoy pulled him against himself between Harry's legs, one trembling hand coming to rest on Harry's hipbone, fingers curling guiltily against his side. The scent of lemon intensified, and then Ron gasped audibly. In front of his inner eye, Harry could see them – Malfoy crushing their cocks together as he saturated them both with oil, palm sliding around their lengths over and over until Ron grew alongside him and the two heads caressed each other, adding trails of precome to the lubricating oil. Despite the lump of fear that closed off his throat, Harry could not rid himself of the image. He pressed his burning cheek against a pillow with its rough stitching of wyvern, and tried to breathe as they leaned in.
When the full impact of their combined width registered on Harry's frayed nerves, he screamed against the pillow. Tears burned in his eyes, and his arse felt as if he was being ripped apart. No one could survive this! Every one of his muscles seemed to freeze against the upholstery. He was terrified of making the tiniest movement as if it could make him burst into flame. He wanted to writhe because the pain was omnipresent, bubbling right under his skin and searching for a way out. But if he moved he would just tear around them, so he hung frozen against the back of the couch like a frog smashed into a concrete wall.
A boil of red hate rose in his chest, not so much at Malfoy, of whom he hadn't expected much else – you asked for it, his inner voice reminded, though not insistent enough to lance the boil. But that Ron would let Malfoy do it, would keep to his word rather than protect him... A glimpse of Dumbledore begging for mercy at the shore of the black lake in Voldemort's cave flashed before his inner eye, and Harry hid his tears against the pillow.
He wailed again as they rocked deeper, each movement slight and careful and feeling as if a broomstick was rammed right into him. Paralysis and pain choked him, like when he'd been in Voldemort's hands and they had bet on who could wring the loudest scream from him, or the most tears... A sliver of rational thought lodged in his brain wondered if he would have broken down like this if they'd tried to rape him then?
"Stop it!" He gagged on the scream, tasting blood in his throat but unable to detect where he'd bitten down – the agony in his arse blotted out everything else. "Stop!"
"I will certainly not stop before you are truly broken, Potter," Malfoy hissed against his neck, and Harry just knew that the man's face was contorted by whatever pleasure this twisted invasion brought him – that, and Harry's pain. "But if you want to plead for mercy with me..."
Pain clawed from his arse right up into a sickening wave in his stomach. Harry considered pride for a short instant, then shot it out the window. He couldn't, couldn't bear this!
"Please!" he sobbed, wanting desperately to squirm away from the agonising force of their combined cocks, but not daring to move in case they hurt him more. "Please, please, please!" He kept babbling while tears were dripping down the side of his nose to sting saltily on his bitten lips. For mercy, then.
He had gone soft – time was when could endure several rounds of the Cruciatus and still get up to fight. Had done so, and killed Voldemort after Ron and Hermione had rescued the near-maddened shell he'd been reduced to. But no touch of pain had come to him for a year since Voldemort's death, holed up safely in Grimmauld Place – in fact, nothing and no one had touched him until Ron pulled him into his arms tonight before they had left for Malfoy's manor house. But now Ron wasn't saving him although he'd sworn he would; instead he was helping Malfoy to skewer him and rip him to pieces, and there was no one to help him and it had to stop!
Malfoy grabbed his hair and twisted his neck around until Harry had to face him. He seemed to study Harry's bloodied lips and tear-stained face for an endless moment. Then Harry heard him reach for his wand – the faint slide and swish of wood that Harry would never, ever mistake for anything else - and utter a spell that sounded vaguely like transfiguration.
For a moment, the lemony scent rose around Harry like a pall of fog, then it began to change, from fresh to spicy sweet, from crisp to mellow, a mix of spiked apple and cinnamon, strong and with a sharp undertone of cloves that echoed the smell of Malfoy's fingers.
A sudden surge of warmth spread through Harry's nether regions, heating up every spot inside him Ron's fingers had touched. It radiated against his bruised, raw channel where it was overstretched by their two cocks, and left a deep, pleasant heat that just seemed to swallow up the pain. Malfoy had transfigured the ointment into a healing potion, Harry's overloaded mind realised – it had probably had those propensities from the start, just waiting for the trigger spell! Even as the maddening agony of being stretched beyond the breaking point abated, Harry's insides still throbbed – his nerves were unable to adjust quickly enough. Even if the pain was taken away, the feeling of being so filled still translated into discomfort.
And yet, the hot fluid soaked his prostate and sparked a need so intense that he moaned and wriggled, contracting his muscles as if to pull their cocks deeper into him, towards where he needed the touch. They rocked inside him, not thrusting, merely a careful slide designed not to fill him beyond endurance. Harry felt the pressure of their bodies against his back, aware of how they had to be tangled and wrapped around each other to fit inside him. Heat burned its way up his spinal column, and he felt himself coil and arch back into them even as the burn threatened to engulf him.
A hoarse noise, and Malfoy dug nails into Harry's shoulders as his cock spilled inside Harry. He draped himself over Harry's back, drawing Ron down with him, and bit down cruelly on the tender spot where Harry's shoulder met his neck. Harry twitched again, his breath suddenly gone and unable not to squeeze around the intruding hardness in his arse even as he felt a trickle of fluid running down his thigh. Ron whimpered and pressed his mouth to the other side of Harry's neck as he jerked too, his tongue swiping away some of the salt that fear and pain had left on his skin.
They remained unmoving until Ron had stopped shaking from the force of his orgasm, and then very carefully pulled out of Harry's hole. The wet squelch made Harry shudder, and despite the blood pooling in his head as it hung down, he was grateful he wouldn't have to see the mess.
Harry felt himself being hauled upright, almost losing his balance as vertigo scrambled his senses at the sudden movement, and then he lost every sense of orientation as Malfoy grabbed his waist, plucked him off the headrest and threw him over so that he landed on the couch in a jumble of limbs. The heat of the ointment flaring in his arse at the vigorous movement was pleasurable, but left no doubt that without the transfigured potion he'd be screaming in agony.
The pillows were pleasantly squishy under his abused body, and when he struggled to turn face up, a stray brocade wyvern brushed his cock and he nearly screamed out loud. He heard Malfoy's laugh even through his burning arousal, barely managing to stop from to touch himself in front of their eyes. Harry smelled cloves just before Malfoy's fingers hooked into the blindfold and slipped it off.
He screwed his eyes shut at the sudden brightness, even though there wasn't all that much light. But when he peered up again, Malfoy's ice-pale hair drew his gaze, tinged as it was with rusty-golden flickers from the fireplace and from the few lamps scattered around the room. The lampshades glowed in subdued scarlet, and the couch underneath Harry's body was dark red too, interrupted by the russet-gold of the wyverns darting around on the upholstery. Gryffindor colours...
Suddenly aware of his pale, gangly nakedness in contrast with the vivid colours of the fabric, Harry made to sit up, but Malfoy just laughed darkly, grabbed his wrists and forced him back down.
"No, Potter. We haven't finished with you yet."
Harry shivered reflexively at the grip around his wrist, and tugged fitfully to free himself. Darkness coloured the corners of his vision although he could see now, but the memory of being paralysed forced beads of sweat onto his forehead, and Malfoy's laugh echoed theirs when he'd lain helpless before the Dark Lord...
Malfoy just shook him by the arms like an unruly puppy, then transferred both of Harry's wrists into one large hand and pulled them back over his head until they were pressed against the armrest, Harry's elbows sticking up like the legs of a dead insect. A quick "Gluemos!", and Harry found his wrists welded to the upholstery. The pull on his shoulder muscles was just shy of painful, and really started to ache as he struggled.
"Let me go!" he hissed, words coming out weakly around the fear that closed off his throat.
The former Death Eater gave his captive a dark look, then sat on the edge of the couch and slowly wrapped his free hand around Harry's throat. Not bruising, just firm, but Harry felt his heart hammering in his chest, felt his pulse beat against Malfoy's palm like a sparrow rushing madly through the air. His throat could form no words, swallowed up by terror even though Malfoy's grip wasn't painful. But Harry was suffocating in the darkness, and he knew his eyes were huge, dark and bruised, the same look that met him in the mirror of his bathroom in Grimmauld Place after he'd woken up screaming from nightmares.
Malfoy smiled, his eyes quite dark themselves, and leaned in until his lips ran over the curve of Harry's cheekbone in a dry caress. "Make me, Potter," he whispered.
Unbidden, Harry's lips went over the hated syllable he'd given Malfoy too many times already.
Please.
He bit down on his lip until he tasted blood; it trickled in a slow line down his chin, but the only thing Harry saw were Malfoy's implacable eyes. No!
"Then suffer," Malfoy told him coldly and intensified his grip ever so slightly. He turned his head, a sheet of long pale hair whipping back over his shoulder. "Our friend requires another lesson," he told Ron, who stood rooted to the spot behind the couch, both fists clenched on the headrest.
Ron picked up Malfoy's wand and performed a cleaning spell on himself with as much careless familiarity as if he were using his own. The high colour of exertion was still stinging his cheeks, but his mouth had thinned into a sharp line. He did not look at Harry even after the sticky remains of semen were gone from his prick and thighs.
"He is your friend, Ronald, or was, at any rate." Malfoy's mouth curved down sharply. "We hurt him – make it up to him."
Eyes downcast, Ron knelt before the couch next to Harry's hips, touching Harry's cock. Malfoy did not tighten his grip on Harry's throat, just kept his hand wrapped around it, but black moths danced in front of Harry's eyes, harbingers of the Dark, until his breaths wheezed in his lungs. The spell that bound Harry's wrists was impervious to his frantic pulls, leaving him utterly defenceless. Even Ron's hands, stroking firmly up and down his prick, could not chase the ice of terror out of his veins. He got a glimpse of his cock, a hard curve against his belly, petted upright by Ron's fingers, shockingly red from prolonged arousal. It strained from between the pale flesh of his thighs before Ron bent down to engulf it in his mouth.
Ron's lips curled around his prick, made to feel all the more immediate by the heat of the potion still working inside him and electrifying his prostate with every move he made. Harry tried to keep his legs motionless, afraid he would flail and kick Ron as the black spots kept encircling his vision. His head and his lungs screamed, but the only thing he felt beyond the waistline was his burning need encased in soft, wet warmth, each tongue-slide over hypersensitive veins a stabbing burst of bliss, and every suction exploding upwards through his nerves until Harry felt the pleasure thrumming in the very roots of his hair.
Terror and pure animal need spilled through him in a dizzying rush, the need to breathe, come, escape roaring up into a crescendo until he wanted to pop out of his skin just to get away. He thrashed helplessly, Malfoy's face imprinted against his closed eyelids with a precision that made him long for the blindfold, Malfoy's fingers around his throat, Malfoy's hair in his mouth as he gasped for air.
He stopped breathing altogether when he shattered, a terror so acute that it felt as if white light instead of come burst from his cock, a last, fading cry in the darkness. He could not move, dared not move, and knew they could break him after all. Tears spilled from his eyes, soaking Malfoy's fingers where they caressed the hollow of his throat, and suddenly he could move his hands, and his neck, so he slid off the pillows with a whimper and curled into a miserable ball on the carpet.
"Oh, thank Merlin!" Ron murmured as Harry collapsed at the foot of the couch, and reached out with a tentative, trembling hand.
Flinching away from Ron's fingers, Harry hugged himself tightly. He saw Lucius' expression, like boiling acid under a sheet of ice, and flinched again. Not Ron's fault – Ron had only offered himself, ready to do whatever it might take to break Harry out of the isolation he had hidden in. It had been Harry who'd asked for Malfoy, hoping that a burning iron would serve to sear his wounds clean where a bandage would not.
He snatched Ron's hand before it could be drawn back, and all resistance bled out of him as he trembled against Ron's chest, sobs wracking his body as Ron wrapped his arms tightly around his shoulders. He hadn't cried since Dumbledore's funeral, not even for Hermione because he'd known that if he let go once, he'd break down and shatter into wailing bits. And a broken, howling child could not defeat the Dark Lord.
He hardly registered that Malfoy pulled them both off the floor and back onto the couch, summoning Harry's robe and wrapping it around his averted shoulders. His hand lingered on Harry's hair when he was done. Malfoy's lips were curved down in a habitual sneer as he watched Harry sob in Ron's arms, but his fingers kept carding through Harry's hair, a steady, unexpectedly comforting presence.
And yet Harry had forced Malfoy's hand, made him summon the Death Eater, had rubbed Ron's nose in the abyss of cruelty Malfoy was still – had always been – capable of. Malfoy had to hate Harry for it so very much...
Even when his sobs abated and the tears dried to smears and a dry burn in his eyes, Harry kept his face hidden against Ron's neck, his breaths hitching with the realisation of what he'd done. He hadn't let anyone close to him in over a year, and he would never forgive himself for being the wedge that would come between those two, who'd been so much braver than that.
"You won't, you know," Malfoy stated calmly, and Harry realised that the man had to have picked up more than just the basics of Legilimency during a lifetime of serving Voldemort.
"What?" he whispered hoarsely.
"Come between us," Malfoy said matter-of-factly. "But you are welcome to stay – for a time, at least. My harebrained consort loves you like a brother-" he brushed Ron's lip affectionately with his thumb, smirking at his mock-scowl. "Well, a bit more than a brother, perhaps. And I will certainly... enjoy you in my bed." He gave Harry's form a meaningful once-over where it huddled on the couch, wrapped up in his house robe with his knees pulled up to his chest. "You do suit some of my inclinations that Ron is less than eager to pander to."
The look that passed between Ron and Malfoy was sparkling with wry humour, and Harry was hit by the implications of what Malfoy had said. He wouldn't have thought Malfoy capable of denying himself anything, least of all to please someone else.
"Oh, he does humour me from time to time," Malfoy added conversationally as if he'd picked up on Harry's thoughts. "But you... you wouldn't humour me, I think."
Harry swallowed convulsively to get some moisture into his suddenly bone-dry mouth. No, he'd never dare to humour Malfoy – he was far too terrified of the man. And yet, despite his ordeal, something pulsed deep and hot inside him at the thought of his touch. If he'd ever manage to abandon himself into Malfoy's hands without Ron's presence to hide behind, there might not be much left for him to fear. Sudden hope fluttered in his chest like swallows' wings. But he shouldn't - they did not need him.
"Please," Ron murmured, stopping the words of refusal just as they were about to tumble from Harry's lips. Harry shivered, and said nothing.
"Very well." Malfoy turned briskly, as if he'd picked up on Harry's unvoiced decision. "Ron will put you to sleep in his room for now, and tomorrow you may pick whatever suite you like." Yes, Harry realised. For all its grandeur, Malfoy's ancestral manor was nearly empty. "We'll pick up your belongings from Grimmauld Place tonight."
The tone left no doubt that Malfoy didn't think there would be any of Harry's possessions worth keeping, but Ron would be there, and Ron would know what handful of Harry's belongings once had – and might again acquire – meaning. Harry let Ron pull him up, suddenly bone-weary, and leaned heavily on his arm.
In mid-step towards the door, Harry paused and turned back.
"I swear I won't even think of trying," he finally got out. There was no need to spell out the 'to come between you' – Lucius would know.
Lucius' lip quirked. "No. But you might be able to add to us." His eyes were fixed on Ron's face over Harry's head. Then he took a step forward and put a finger under Harry's chin. The kiss, when it came, was gentle, and wholly without fire. So gentle indeed that Harry hardly felt a sting in his bitten lip. He just hung on for as long as it lasted, then let out a shaky breath.
Fatigue tore at him like the nightly sea on an exposed cliff. He swayed on his feet, and felt Ron's arm around his shoulder, steadying him. He heard "Mobilicorpus!" through the dull roar of the imaginary sea in his head, felt weightlessness imbue him like air bubbles just underneath his skin, and buried his face against the crook of Ron's neck which was promising peace.
The thought that when he woke up he would not be alone for the first time in over a year shuddered through the core of his heart. It left a warm glow as he surrendered himself to sleep.
~ finis ~
Feedback: Oh, pretty please! Feel encouraged to do the concrit thing before this goes out to anyplace else!
And bloody *heck*! Yet another fic intended solely for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
pornish_pixies and then running *way* over the wordcount max!
Author: Hijja (kennahijja@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17 (angst, a bit of kink and violence)
Pairing: Lucius/Harry/Ron
Length: about 7500 words
Summary: Harry is determined to exorcise his demons...
Note: Most abject thanks to
annephoenix, ferretgm, dracos_doll and rfachir for the beta! And as always, hummelchen talked me through the plot :).Harry felt Ron's hand on the small of his back as he was urged gently into the room. He had the impulse to blink, but the cloth covering his eyes made that quite impossible. He bit down on the side of his tongue, trying hard not to tremble. He trusted Ron, of course, but...
"Good evening, Mr Potter."
Even knowing it would come, Harry jumped at the coldness of the voice. There was a lump sitting in his throat as he swallowed, so he said nothing.
Harry had not seen Lucius Malfoy since he'd stood as witness for the Binding Oath Malfoy took with Ron a year ago. Harry had been the only one willing to do so, in a situation where even Arthur and Molly had refused to acknowledge their youngest son's choice. He had watched the green tendrils of fire twist and creep around their wrists, still wondering whether he'd missed something when he'd raked through Ron's brain with Legilimency the night before. He had never understood what had made them go from partners in the Order to highly unlikely lovers. He still wasn't quite convinced that there hadn't been any Dark Arts tampering on Lucius' part.
Their ceremony had been the last time Harry had left Grimmauld Place for any length of time.
Perhaps, if Harry hadn't been so hell-bent on going after Snape and Voldemort after the disastrous end of his sixth year, he'd not left Ron to keep an eye on Malfoy when he decided to throw in his lot with the Order. They hadn't been lovers back then, Harry knew. Ron and Hermione were still courting, their habitual bickering replaced by mutual worrying, but deeper for it. Only much later, Ron had mentioned, over a glass too many of Firewhisky in Harry's refuge at Grimmauld Place, that even looking at another woman brought back the memory of Hermione's death.
And though Harry had half wished Ron would stop visiting him and reminding him that there was a world out there beyond Grimmauld Place, he couldn't have helped but observe how Ron became more relaxed – happier – over time. Supreme bastard and former Death Eater, Malfoy seemed to be good for him.
Ron's hand left his back, and Harry's thoughts scattered like a flock of sparrows. He could hear soft steps coming to a halt beside him.
"Ronald." There wasn't much room for softness in Lucius Malfoy, Harry knew that very well, but his tone was lower in this second acknowledgement, less metallically bright with hostility when he spoke Ron's name. "You brought him."
"You said you wanted him."
Harry could not quite pinpoint when his best friend had acquired this air of calm – perhaps after Hermione, or after the war, or because living with a man of such volatile temper as Malfoy made it a necessity.
"He agreed, then?" Malfoy's tone remained unreadable.
"Would I have brought him by force?" Ron inquired, deceptively mild. And Malfoy, whom Harry hadn’t seen smiling once since Narcissa’s and Draco’s death, actually chuckled.
There was a moment of silence, and then Harry felt Ron’s hand tugging at his arm, drawing him towards the former Death Eater.
“Come, mate,” Ron murmured, soothing and with an amused undertone as if he was sharing a joke with Malfoy. “Lucius won’t hurt you.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Malfoy's voice again, sharp as before and not a bit less confrontational.
"He won't do anything you can't bear," Ron amended, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulder as he tugged him forward. Harry allowed it, although every fibre in his body tensed against the thought of being led blind into Malfoy's hands. But he'd come this far...
He couldn't help a reflexive jerk as cold fingers wrapped around his wrist, and he was pulled forward against an unyielding body. Harry bit down on his lower lip, eyes almost impossibly wide behind the blindfold. Malfoy's other hand grabbed his chin, and a hint of colour heated Harry's cheeks as he felt himself being studied. He could feel Malfoy's robe against his skin, soft cloth with a scrape of brocade. Malfoy let go of his chin and drew Harry's robe off his shoulders, leaving him clad in only a shirt and thin trousers. Malfoy attacked the buttons on the shirt as well, oblivious to the hairs rising on Harry's arms.
It was warm enough in the room, but Harry was freezing. He felt Malfoy's fingertips running over his chest, tracing one nipple with a sharp nail, then taking hold of the other and squeezing. Harry sucked in air at the sudden, brilliant burst of pain. Tears sprang to his eyes behind the blindfold, and he tried to force his face into impassivity as Malfoy kept on squeezing as if he intended to reduce the inoffensive little nub to a bloody pulp. Harry's back arched involuntarily and he writhed for a short moment before a strangled whimper escaped his lips. The pain was nothing compared to the curses the Death Eaters had thrown at him as they had circled his fallen form, trapped in Voldemort's Dark Charm. But the worst ever since.
Malfoy laughed, sharp and ugly, and let go. The pain flared again as Harry's nipple was released, but Malfoy just grabbed his shoulders and shoved him backwards. Harry screeched, flailing to keep on his feet, but then arms wrapped around him from behind and Ron's solid body cushioned the impact and broke his fall.
But the comfort of Ron's embrace was short-lived. Harry heard Malfoy approaching, two quick, measured steps, and then his mouth was on Harry's chest, surprisingly hot for such a cold bastard, tongue insistently worrying Harry's abused nipple. Harry arched his back against Ron's chest, trying to make sense of the conflicting stabs of pain and arousal that assaulted his body. Malfoy leaned over to trouble Harry's other nipple, soft, long hair tickling over Harry's side.
It was almost amazing, Harry realised, thoughts muzzy and groin afire, how he could react so spectacularly even as his mind was half-paralysed with terror at the man's sheer presence. The voice and the pain brought back the Death Eaters, circling his helpless, blinded form like hungry jackals. But Malfoy's provocative tongue, and the way Harry's hip pressed against the slight bulge of Ron's groin, were solidly present and real.
Harry's state of arousal did not remain unacknowledged. Malfoy lifted his mouth off Harry's chest with a chuckle, and then his hand reached for Harry's erection, grabbing it through the material of Harry's loose-fitting trousers. Harry bit back a yelp at the sudden roughness, his hand coming up reflexively to bat Malfoy away. He gasped as Malfoy grabbed his wrist hard enough to make his pulse hammer against his skin, and twisted Harry's arm behind his back. The soft fabric of Malfoy's dressing gown felt like a cloying shroud against Harry's upper body.
"I do not think that resistance is part of the bargain." Malfoy's breath whispered over Harry's face, and Harry shivered in his cruel grip. "Do you need to be restrained, Potter?" The man's lips nearly touched Harry's cheek in a ghostly caress, but it were his words rather than the sudden, crushing squeeze around his wrist that made Harry tremble.
"No," he gasped, hairs rising on his arms again as he shrank back against Ron's chest.
"I fail to be quite convinced, Potter."
Harry's wild headshake sent his hair flying. He remembered being restrained, flat on his back and unable to flex a muscle while wands pointed at him and curses rained down on his blistering flesh. And laughter...
"No!" he cried again, and Ron caught his hand before it could tug off the blindfold, cupping his icy fingers.
"No, Lucius." Ron's voice, quiet and calm. "He will not defy you again."
So certain, Harry thought breathlessly. He sagged against Ron and took deep, calming breaths.
"As you wish, Ronald."
Malfoy released Harry's throbbing wrist, and then his hand was back on Harry's groin, kneading his softened prick through the fabric with palm and greedy fingers. Harry groaned at the touch, unable to stop arousal from crawling back into his turgid organ, unable to keep it from straining into Malfoy's hand.
Then Malfoy's fingers slid up to undo the drawstrings of his trousers, leaving them to slide down his thighs and to pool on the floor around his toes. Harry's ears heated up - he could feel Malfoy's cool eyes on his body, appraising and most likely judging him the height of unremarkable. Plain, and pretentious.
Malfoy could have almost anyone who didn't discriminate on account of the Dark Arts. Ron, at least, had grown out of his gangling teenage body, lanky limbs turning to smooth strength, cheekbones sharpening into features that were almost attractive. Harry knew what he himself looked like – too pale, too thin from months of hiding himself away in Grimmauld Place, too scared to venture out for provision and rarely feeling up to even leaving his bedroom and braving the vast, cold kitchen and the hallways full of disapproving Black portraits.
Harry gasped out loud as the long fingers curled around the base of his cock again, and then fabric rustled and warm lips closed around the tip, a bold tongue swiping over the tiny slit on top...
He almost screamed at the sudden sensation, incredulity washing over him at the thought that this was Lucius Malfoy kneeling before him, Harry's prick in his mouth. Behind him, Ron sucked air into his lungs, his hands trembling around Harry's fingers.
The broad, soft tongue slithered over the head of Harry's prick, and then up the underside until Harry strained deeper into the seductive mouth. The first touch of suction tore a cry from his lips after all, too sweet, too sharp, too dangerously overwhelming. Any more of this, and he'd end up pleading for the man to never stop suckling him. When Malfoy's lips slid slowly off the curve of Harry's prick, the sudden gush of cold air on his saliva-warmed flesh was almost painful.
"I'm so glad you approve, Ronald." Over Ron's audible breathing, Harry heard the sarcastic tone in Malfoy's voice. "How about getting him ready for me instead of just gaping?"
Ron gave a noncommittal snort, and the snicker he muffled against his hair told Harry his best friend was laughing.
"You could employ that insolent tongue of yours to the task, Ronald," Malfoy sneered, voice fairly dripping condescension. "That might be one proper use for it."
Heat flooded Harry's face when he figured out the barb, and his buttocks clenched nervously at the thought.
"That might be a little too much for Harry," Ron replied.
"I think you pay too much heed to the sensibilities of a man who had no qualms about worrying you sick for months."
Ron's hand curved down to cup Harry's buttock. "He didn't do it on purpose. You know that, Lucius."
"He did it nonetheless."
Harry felt a sting and a deep longing for his safe little bedroom in Grimmauld Place. He cringed and tried to turn away.
"No, don't," Ron murmured against his hair, and detoured his fingers in a fleeting brush along the underside of Harry's cock where it strained up towards Harry's belly. Harry gasped and squirmed, guilt forcefully wiped from his mind by the wicked touch.
Then Ron's hands left Harry's body, and Harry felt him angling backwards, picking something off the table. He heard the faint tinkle of a lid being lifted from a porcelain container. It was amazing how not being able to see heightened not only his susceptibility to touch, but also his hearing and imagination.
A tap to the small of his back urged him gently forward. Ron stopped him after three nervous steps, guiding Harry's hands on the plush headrest of a couch for balance.
"Spread your legs a little," Ron said, then added, "Thanks," when Harry obeyed. Harry could hear the smile that coloured Ron's voice, and blushed even more as Ron's finger lightly ran along the now-revealed cleft between his buttocks. "Now just lean over the headrest, mate."
Harry swallowed, shoulder blades tensing at the thought of how that would leave him exposed and vulnerable, and he didn't know where Malfoy was... But then, that was the point, wasn't it?
He slid down along the soft fabric of the headrest – it felt like satin or something – until his hands came to rest on the cushioned seat of the couch. It was a pretty high headrest, he realised when he relaxed his tense leg muscles experimentally, and found he had to stand on tiptoes with his arse obscenely high up in the air. And the fabric, so soft against his skin, still felt rough and scraped where his aching cock was trapped between it and his belly.
Then something wriggled under his left palm, and Harry startled back with a yelp. Ron chuckled and pushed him back down.
"Animated wyvern stitching in the coverlet," he explained. "They love to fly around a bit."
"You might find it... interesting in certain areas." Malfoy's slow drawl was only a few steps away, closer than Harry would have preferred. As if on cue, the tickling scrape repeated itself, right where Harry's cock was pressed against the couch. Harry flinched against Ron's hands cupping his arse. The rough stimulation of his over-tender head made him almost oblivious to the finger laid along his crack. He clawed the cushions for purchase, and found his breath only when the invisible wyvern had wriggled free from underneath him.
Ron's finger slipped deeper, slick with fragrant ointment that smelled of lemon and herbs, and experimentally traced Harry's pucker. The slight pressure left Harry light-headed, and he wondered if his face would ever cool down to a normal colour again. He'd... taken care of himself with a cleaning charm before Ron arrived to pick him up, had even touched himself there as if to try and prepare himself for the real thing, but this was...
He must look ridiculous to Ron, even more so to Malfoy, who probably observed his humiliation with glee.
"Relax, Harry," Ron advised, and then his index finger began to press inside and wriggle, slippery and insistent and suddenly further in than Harry had expected. It didn't quite hurt, but left Harry feeling like an over-stuffed turkey. He squirmed reflexively, which made the intrusion feel bigger, and more painful. Ron bent forward, finger angling to the side in a way that had Harry gulping, and laid a dry kiss on the goose-fleshed skin between Harry's shoulder blades.
"Shhh – just calm down. I won't hurt you."
Harry did not feel quite up to heeding such sage advice, and the sudden dip of the couch next to his right arm made him jump. Ron used this moment of distraction to slowly rotate his finger in to the knuckles.
A feeble, mournful sound escaped Harry's lips, and he nearly screamed when Malfoy's hand took hold of his chin, craning back his neck almost painfully to study his face. It was... unnerving, being scrutinised without being able to see in return. But the black spellcloth did its job admirably well, covering Harry's eyes without pressure or cutting into his skin. Just plunging him into complete darkness.
"Yes, Potter, keep your head up," Malfoy sneered. "I want to see your face when Ronald works inside you."
Indeed, Ron had used Malfoy's interference to slide the full length of his index finger into Harry, where it stuck like something far too big, too alien. And the whole thing was kind of gross too, thinking about it... Ron wriggled the invasive digit in tiny circles and sweat beaded on Harry's forehead. Then a particularly energetic wriggle brushed by... something inside him and a spark of heat shot up Harry's spine, blazing into his brain and then down to send another layer of hardness into his trapped cock. He bit down on his lower lip to stifle another embarrassing mewl.
"It looks like you got him there." Malfoy snickered and Ron repeated the movement more purposefully. Squirming under the onslaught of another delicious jolt, Harry came close to yelling at his friend, but then had to fight a noise of protest as Ron's finger pulled almost free of him. The muscles of his entrance were stretched painfully for a moment as a second finger joined the first, rotating deeper in smooth, careful circles, and Harry inadvertently tightened his muscles to hold them inside. The pressure of Ron's fingers opening him was just shy of pain, but Harry found himself flattening against the couch to take his weight off his toes as he spread his thighs a little bit further to ease their progress towards that pleasurable spot.
Malfoy's thumb curved over his lips and Harry parted them without thinking. It slipped in so easily, almost a parody of the tight press of Ron's fingers in his arse, and when Harry's tongue brushed nervously against the digit, it tasted faintly of skin and the clove oil the man must have handled earlier. Bitter, like his person.
Harry's wayward mind piped up with the thought of what Malfoy's cock might taste like in his mouth. Reflexively, he closed his lips and sucked lightly. The rough pad of Malfoy's thumb stroked his tongue, and the sensation spread right down into Harry's prick.
Ron leaned in and draped his body over Harry's back, pressing his cheek against Harry's for a moment.
"You look... amazing like this."
His fingers remained buried in Harry's depths, brushing in slow, regular circles along Harry's prostate, leaving him shaking with arousal against the couch, his prick chafing where it was trapped between the headrest and his belly.
"Quite," Malfoy agreed coldly, slipping his finger from Harry's mouth. "And I think he's ready for me now."
The couch dipped again when Malfoy rose, and Harry nearly screamed as another wyvern escaped from under him and wriggled along his hip. Ron laid a kiss on the tense knot of neck muscles atop Harry's spine and carefully pulled out his fingers. Harry would have mourned the loss had he not been so nervous at the thought of Malfoy touching him as intimately. He tried to scrabble backwards, feeling too vulnerable and prone with his arse on display over the headrest, but harsh fingers grabbed his neck, annihilating the touch of Ron's lips, and forced him back into place.
"Have you ever done this before?" Malfoy's lips almost touched the outer shell of Harry's ear.
Harry shook his head mutely. He did not want to confess it aloud, and was scared of how his voice would sound if he tried.
"Oh, good!" Harry shivered at the satisfied tone of Malfoy's voice. "I’d hate for this to be easy on you."
Cloth rustled and found its way to the floor, and Ron took Malfoy's place on the couch next to Harry. He wrapped calming fingers around Harry's wrist to ease out his tense fist. The lemony scent of the oil Ron had used filled Harry's nostrils once more, and the slick sounds that overcame the faint roar of blood in Harry's ears told him Malfoy was preparing himself. He bit his lip.
When the same claw-like hands that had held his neck gripped his hips, Harry stiffened with terror. It was too possessive, too ripe with the potential of violence. Malfoy had his wand where Harry had come unarmed; he could just stun Ron and curse Harry, or do anything to him he'd ever dreamed of. Malfoy had always despised him, and was the kind to nurture his hatred. Yes, Harry had killed Voldemort who'd ordered the deaths of Malfoy's wife and son, but then he'd also brought about the destruction of the diary Horcrux that had prompted Voldemort's rage against Lucius in the first place...
Harry's nails dug painfully into his palms when Malfoy grabbed his buttocks in both hands and pulled them apart, leaving cold air to register against his oiled opening. Ron leaned forward to place a kiss on the corner of Harry's mouth, and Harry leaned into the touch reflexively, desperate for a distraction from the sharp rap of Malfoy's knuckles against his pucker. Harry's whole body was tense with fear. He only relaxed fragmentarily when the knuckles vanished and the head of Malfoy's cock pressed against his entrance. It still felt huge as it began to insist, and Harry sucked a nervous breath of air out of Ron's lungs as he gasped.
The insides of Harry's eyelids seemed to bleed red for the endless moment Malfoy took to shove himself inside Harry. It was too much – Malfoy went too fast, too rough, and Ron's gentle preparation and soothing oil could not contend with Harry's muscles, knotting in resistance.
Malfoy seemed oblivious to his discomfort, or maybe he noticed and just didn't care. Harry felt the parting press of Ron's mouth against his lips. A touch that was meant to be reassuring, but only left Harry empty and scared.
He managed to suck in another breath when Malfoy pulled out a little, leaving his channel to relax ever so slightly, but Malfoy placed a heavy hand on Harry's back, putting an end to his pained squirming and trapping him effectively against the back of the couch. Then Malfoy shoved the whole length of his prick back in, and Harry found himself clawing fitfully at the satin upholstery in order not to screech at the top of his lungs. It hurt so much that he did not dare to struggle, because that would make the scalding pain flare even more. He lay limp under the onslaught, letting it rock him into the upholstery like a rag doll, just hoping to ride out the pain. It could not go on forever, even if it felt like forever, felt as if he was a lobster being scalded from the inside.
When Malfoy had pushed himself fully inside him, Harry's back was covered with a film of cold sweat that had to leave smears on the expensive fabric of the couch. The bastard gave a few shallow thrusts, eased by the lubrication that seemed to work for Malfoy, but did nothing to loosen the screaming muscles of Harry's arse. Harry dug his teeth into the back of his hand to stifle the cries that wanted to escape.
Malfoy pressed up against him, ran his hand down Harry's wet back from neck to tailbone, and laughed.
"Our brave little hero," he mocked. "Now, Ron, come here. He feels so very good around me – entirely at my mercy, and tight and trembling... I want you to take him with me."
It took hearing Ron's shocked gasp over Harry's own harsh breathing for Harry to comprehend the meaning, but then he squirmed in fright. Malfoy's fingers gripped the back of his neck again and pushed his face into the couch pillow in an unsubtle warning. Harry saw bright red against his eyelids again for a moment, unable to breathe even if his nose had been free.
"What?" Harry hadn't heard a more merciless voice since Voldemort. "You were so entranced by his lovely arse a moment ago, weren't you?"
"Merlin, no. Please, Lucius, don't make me do that!" Ron's sounded as panicked as Harry himself.
Ron, who had killed Lucius' old friend Snape, after Snape had led the Death Eater attack that burned the premises of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes to ashes with Fred, George and their shy young assistant still inside... Was there still anger between them, and did Lucius use him, Harry, to settle their scores?
"You swore he'd be ready. You swore you would obey me in everything. Am I to demand an Unbreakable Vow to ensure the loyalty of my own consort?"
Harry heard Ron sucking in a breath that was almost a sob; it rattled in his throat, and Harry felt Ron's hand trembling against his flank. He wanted to beg him for help so very badly – beg him to send Malfoy away, to stop the pain, to take him back home to Grimmauld Place, to not touch him. But he couldn't. His last trembling vestiges of pride did not allow him to plead in front of Malfoy, or to plead at all. He had asked for this, if not quite for this... He would not ask Ron to choose between them!
So Harry didn't speak; he just dug nails into the cushions and tried to empty his mind in the feeble hope that not being quite there might dull his nerve ends as well. He felt Malfoy slip free of him, still hard, and then his hands came round to spread Harry's thighs wider, making room for Ron between them until Harry was spread painfully wide, knees pressed into the headrest. His feet had come off the floor entirely now, so that he was held up, pinned there by Malfoy's body.
Ron uttered the softest of sighs as Malfoy pulled him against himself between Harry's legs, one trembling hand coming to rest on Harry's hipbone, fingers curling guiltily against his side. The scent of lemon intensified, and then Ron gasped audibly. In front of his inner eye, Harry could see them – Malfoy crushing their cocks together as he saturated them both with oil, palm sliding around their lengths over and over until Ron grew alongside him and the two heads caressed each other, adding trails of precome to the lubricating oil. Despite the lump of fear that closed off his throat, Harry could not rid himself of the image. He pressed his burning cheek against a pillow with its rough stitching of wyvern, and tried to breathe as they leaned in.
When the full impact of their combined width registered on Harry's frayed nerves, he screamed against the pillow. Tears burned in his eyes, and his arse felt as if he was being ripped apart. No one could survive this! Every one of his muscles seemed to freeze against the upholstery. He was terrified of making the tiniest movement as if it could make him burst into flame. He wanted to writhe because the pain was omnipresent, bubbling right under his skin and searching for a way out. But if he moved he would just tear around them, so he hung frozen against the back of the couch like a frog smashed into a concrete wall.
A boil of red hate rose in his chest, not so much at Malfoy, of whom he hadn't expected much else – you asked for it, his inner voice reminded, though not insistent enough to lance the boil. But that Ron would let Malfoy do it, would keep to his word rather than protect him... A glimpse of Dumbledore begging for mercy at the shore of the black lake in Voldemort's cave flashed before his inner eye, and Harry hid his tears against the pillow.
He wailed again as they rocked deeper, each movement slight and careful and feeling as if a broomstick was rammed right into him. Paralysis and pain choked him, like when he'd been in Voldemort's hands and they had bet on who could wring the loudest scream from him, or the most tears... A sliver of rational thought lodged in his brain wondered if he would have broken down like this if they'd tried to rape him then?
"Stop it!" He gagged on the scream, tasting blood in his throat but unable to detect where he'd bitten down – the agony in his arse blotted out everything else. "Stop!"
"I will certainly not stop before you are truly broken, Potter," Malfoy hissed against his neck, and Harry just knew that the man's face was contorted by whatever pleasure this twisted invasion brought him – that, and Harry's pain. "But if you want to plead for mercy with me..."
Pain clawed from his arse right up into a sickening wave in his stomach. Harry considered pride for a short instant, then shot it out the window. He couldn't, couldn't bear this!
"Please!" he sobbed, wanting desperately to squirm away from the agonising force of their combined cocks, but not daring to move in case they hurt him more. "Please, please, please!" He kept babbling while tears were dripping down the side of his nose to sting saltily on his bitten lips. For mercy, then.
He had gone soft – time was when could endure several rounds of the Cruciatus and still get up to fight. Had done so, and killed Voldemort after Ron and Hermione had rescued the near-maddened shell he'd been reduced to. But no touch of pain had come to him for a year since Voldemort's death, holed up safely in Grimmauld Place – in fact, nothing and no one had touched him until Ron pulled him into his arms tonight before they had left for Malfoy's manor house. But now Ron wasn't saving him although he'd sworn he would; instead he was helping Malfoy to skewer him and rip him to pieces, and there was no one to help him and it had to stop!
Malfoy grabbed his hair and twisted his neck around until Harry had to face him. He seemed to study Harry's bloodied lips and tear-stained face for an endless moment. Then Harry heard him reach for his wand – the faint slide and swish of wood that Harry would never, ever mistake for anything else - and utter a spell that sounded vaguely like transfiguration.
For a moment, the lemony scent rose around Harry like a pall of fog, then it began to change, from fresh to spicy sweet, from crisp to mellow, a mix of spiked apple and cinnamon, strong and with a sharp undertone of cloves that echoed the smell of Malfoy's fingers.
A sudden surge of warmth spread through Harry's nether regions, heating up every spot inside him Ron's fingers had touched. It radiated against his bruised, raw channel where it was overstretched by their two cocks, and left a deep, pleasant heat that just seemed to swallow up the pain. Malfoy had transfigured the ointment into a healing potion, Harry's overloaded mind realised – it had probably had those propensities from the start, just waiting for the trigger spell! Even as the maddening agony of being stretched beyond the breaking point abated, Harry's insides still throbbed – his nerves were unable to adjust quickly enough. Even if the pain was taken away, the feeling of being so filled still translated into discomfort.
And yet, the hot fluid soaked his prostate and sparked a need so intense that he moaned and wriggled, contracting his muscles as if to pull their cocks deeper into him, towards where he needed the touch. They rocked inside him, not thrusting, merely a careful slide designed not to fill him beyond endurance. Harry felt the pressure of their bodies against his back, aware of how they had to be tangled and wrapped around each other to fit inside him. Heat burned its way up his spinal column, and he felt himself coil and arch back into them even as the burn threatened to engulf him.
A hoarse noise, and Malfoy dug nails into Harry's shoulders as his cock spilled inside Harry. He draped himself over Harry's back, drawing Ron down with him, and bit down cruelly on the tender spot where Harry's shoulder met his neck. Harry twitched again, his breath suddenly gone and unable not to squeeze around the intruding hardness in his arse even as he felt a trickle of fluid running down his thigh. Ron whimpered and pressed his mouth to the other side of Harry's neck as he jerked too, his tongue swiping away some of the salt that fear and pain had left on his skin.
They remained unmoving until Ron had stopped shaking from the force of his orgasm, and then very carefully pulled out of Harry's hole. The wet squelch made Harry shudder, and despite the blood pooling in his head as it hung down, he was grateful he wouldn't have to see the mess.
Harry felt himself being hauled upright, almost losing his balance as vertigo scrambled his senses at the sudden movement, and then he lost every sense of orientation as Malfoy grabbed his waist, plucked him off the headrest and threw him over so that he landed on the couch in a jumble of limbs. The heat of the ointment flaring in his arse at the vigorous movement was pleasurable, but left no doubt that without the transfigured potion he'd be screaming in agony.
The pillows were pleasantly squishy under his abused body, and when he struggled to turn face up, a stray brocade wyvern brushed his cock and he nearly screamed out loud. He heard Malfoy's laugh even through his burning arousal, barely managing to stop from to touch himself in front of their eyes. Harry smelled cloves just before Malfoy's fingers hooked into the blindfold and slipped it off.
He screwed his eyes shut at the sudden brightness, even though there wasn't all that much light. But when he peered up again, Malfoy's ice-pale hair drew his gaze, tinged as it was with rusty-golden flickers from the fireplace and from the few lamps scattered around the room. The lampshades glowed in subdued scarlet, and the couch underneath Harry's body was dark red too, interrupted by the russet-gold of the wyverns darting around on the upholstery. Gryffindor colours...
Suddenly aware of his pale, gangly nakedness in contrast with the vivid colours of the fabric, Harry made to sit up, but Malfoy just laughed darkly, grabbed his wrists and forced him back down.
"No, Potter. We haven't finished with you yet."
Harry shivered reflexively at the grip around his wrist, and tugged fitfully to free himself. Darkness coloured the corners of his vision although he could see now, but the memory of being paralysed forced beads of sweat onto his forehead, and Malfoy's laugh echoed theirs when he'd lain helpless before the Dark Lord...
Malfoy just shook him by the arms like an unruly puppy, then transferred both of Harry's wrists into one large hand and pulled them back over his head until they were pressed against the armrest, Harry's elbows sticking up like the legs of a dead insect. A quick "Gluemos!", and Harry found his wrists welded to the upholstery. The pull on his shoulder muscles was just shy of painful, and really started to ache as he struggled.
"Let me go!" he hissed, words coming out weakly around the fear that closed off his throat.
The former Death Eater gave his captive a dark look, then sat on the edge of the couch and slowly wrapped his free hand around Harry's throat. Not bruising, just firm, but Harry felt his heart hammering in his chest, felt his pulse beat against Malfoy's palm like a sparrow rushing madly through the air. His throat could form no words, swallowed up by terror even though Malfoy's grip wasn't painful. But Harry was suffocating in the darkness, and he knew his eyes were huge, dark and bruised, the same look that met him in the mirror of his bathroom in Grimmauld Place after he'd woken up screaming from nightmares.
Malfoy smiled, his eyes quite dark themselves, and leaned in until his lips ran over the curve of Harry's cheekbone in a dry caress. "Make me, Potter," he whispered.
Unbidden, Harry's lips went over the hated syllable he'd given Malfoy too many times already.
Please.
He bit down on his lip until he tasted blood; it trickled in a slow line down his chin, but the only thing Harry saw were Malfoy's implacable eyes. No!
"Then suffer," Malfoy told him coldly and intensified his grip ever so slightly. He turned his head, a sheet of long pale hair whipping back over his shoulder. "Our friend requires another lesson," he told Ron, who stood rooted to the spot behind the couch, both fists clenched on the headrest.
Ron picked up Malfoy's wand and performed a cleaning spell on himself with as much careless familiarity as if he were using his own. The high colour of exertion was still stinging his cheeks, but his mouth had thinned into a sharp line. He did not look at Harry even after the sticky remains of semen were gone from his prick and thighs.
"He is your friend, Ronald, or was, at any rate." Malfoy's mouth curved down sharply. "We hurt him – make it up to him."
Eyes downcast, Ron knelt before the couch next to Harry's hips, touching Harry's cock. Malfoy did not tighten his grip on Harry's throat, just kept his hand wrapped around it, but black moths danced in front of Harry's eyes, harbingers of the Dark, until his breaths wheezed in his lungs. The spell that bound Harry's wrists was impervious to his frantic pulls, leaving him utterly defenceless. Even Ron's hands, stroking firmly up and down his prick, could not chase the ice of terror out of his veins. He got a glimpse of his cock, a hard curve against his belly, petted upright by Ron's fingers, shockingly red from prolonged arousal. It strained from between the pale flesh of his thighs before Ron bent down to engulf it in his mouth.
Ron's lips curled around his prick, made to feel all the more immediate by the heat of the potion still working inside him and electrifying his prostate with every move he made. Harry tried to keep his legs motionless, afraid he would flail and kick Ron as the black spots kept encircling his vision. His head and his lungs screamed, but the only thing he felt beyond the waistline was his burning need encased in soft, wet warmth, each tongue-slide over hypersensitive veins a stabbing burst of bliss, and every suction exploding upwards through his nerves until Harry felt the pleasure thrumming in the very roots of his hair.
Terror and pure animal need spilled through him in a dizzying rush, the need to breathe, come, escape roaring up into a crescendo until he wanted to pop out of his skin just to get away. He thrashed helplessly, Malfoy's face imprinted against his closed eyelids with a precision that made him long for the blindfold, Malfoy's fingers around his throat, Malfoy's hair in his mouth as he gasped for air.
He stopped breathing altogether when he shattered, a terror so acute that it felt as if white light instead of come burst from his cock, a last, fading cry in the darkness. He could not move, dared not move, and knew they could break him after all. Tears spilled from his eyes, soaking Malfoy's fingers where they caressed the hollow of his throat, and suddenly he could move his hands, and his neck, so he slid off the pillows with a whimper and curled into a miserable ball on the carpet.
"Oh, thank Merlin!" Ron murmured as Harry collapsed at the foot of the couch, and reached out with a tentative, trembling hand.
Flinching away from Ron's fingers, Harry hugged himself tightly. He saw Lucius' expression, like boiling acid under a sheet of ice, and flinched again. Not Ron's fault – Ron had only offered himself, ready to do whatever it might take to break Harry out of the isolation he had hidden in. It had been Harry who'd asked for Malfoy, hoping that a burning iron would serve to sear his wounds clean where a bandage would not.
He snatched Ron's hand before it could be drawn back, and all resistance bled out of him as he trembled against Ron's chest, sobs wracking his body as Ron wrapped his arms tightly around his shoulders. He hadn't cried since Dumbledore's funeral, not even for Hermione because he'd known that if he let go once, he'd break down and shatter into wailing bits. And a broken, howling child could not defeat the Dark Lord.
He hardly registered that Malfoy pulled them both off the floor and back onto the couch, summoning Harry's robe and wrapping it around his averted shoulders. His hand lingered on Harry's hair when he was done. Malfoy's lips were curved down in a habitual sneer as he watched Harry sob in Ron's arms, but his fingers kept carding through Harry's hair, a steady, unexpectedly comforting presence.
And yet Harry had forced Malfoy's hand, made him summon the Death Eater, had rubbed Ron's nose in the abyss of cruelty Malfoy was still – had always been – capable of. Malfoy had to hate Harry for it so very much...
Even when his sobs abated and the tears dried to smears and a dry burn in his eyes, Harry kept his face hidden against Ron's neck, his breaths hitching with the realisation of what he'd done. He hadn't let anyone close to him in over a year, and he would never forgive himself for being the wedge that would come between those two, who'd been so much braver than that.
"You won't, you know," Malfoy stated calmly, and Harry realised that the man had to have picked up more than just the basics of Legilimency during a lifetime of serving Voldemort.
"What?" he whispered hoarsely.
"Come between us," Malfoy said matter-of-factly. "But you are welcome to stay – for a time, at least. My harebrained consort loves you like a brother-" he brushed Ron's lip affectionately with his thumb, smirking at his mock-scowl. "Well, a bit more than a brother, perhaps. And I will certainly... enjoy you in my bed." He gave Harry's form a meaningful once-over where it huddled on the couch, wrapped up in his house robe with his knees pulled up to his chest. "You do suit some of my inclinations that Ron is less than eager to pander to."
The look that passed between Ron and Malfoy was sparkling with wry humour, and Harry was hit by the implications of what Malfoy had said. He wouldn't have thought Malfoy capable of denying himself anything, least of all to please someone else.
"Oh, he does humour me from time to time," Malfoy added conversationally as if he'd picked up on Harry's thoughts. "But you... you wouldn't humour me, I think."
Harry swallowed convulsively to get some moisture into his suddenly bone-dry mouth. No, he'd never dare to humour Malfoy – he was far too terrified of the man. And yet, despite his ordeal, something pulsed deep and hot inside him at the thought of his touch. If he'd ever manage to abandon himself into Malfoy's hands without Ron's presence to hide behind, there might not be much left for him to fear. Sudden hope fluttered in his chest like swallows' wings. But he shouldn't - they did not need him.
"Please," Ron murmured, stopping the words of refusal just as they were about to tumble from Harry's lips. Harry shivered, and said nothing.
"Very well." Malfoy turned briskly, as if he'd picked up on Harry's unvoiced decision. "Ron will put you to sleep in his room for now, and tomorrow you may pick whatever suite you like." Yes, Harry realised. For all its grandeur, Malfoy's ancestral manor was nearly empty. "We'll pick up your belongings from Grimmauld Place tonight."
The tone left no doubt that Malfoy didn't think there would be any of Harry's possessions worth keeping, but Ron would be there, and Ron would know what handful of Harry's belongings once had – and might again acquire – meaning. Harry let Ron pull him up, suddenly bone-weary, and leaned heavily on his arm.
In mid-step towards the door, Harry paused and turned back.
"I swear I won't even think of trying," he finally got out. There was no need to spell out the 'to come between you' – Lucius would know.
Lucius' lip quirked. "No. But you might be able to add to us." His eyes were fixed on Ron's face over Harry's head. Then he took a step forward and put a finger under Harry's chin. The kiss, when it came, was gentle, and wholly without fire. So gentle indeed that Harry hardly felt a sting in his bitten lip. He just hung on for as long as it lasted, then let out a shaky breath.
Fatigue tore at him like the nightly sea on an exposed cliff. He swayed on his feet, and felt Ron's arm around his shoulder, steadying him. He heard "Mobilicorpus!" through the dull roar of the imaginary sea in his head, felt weightlessness imbue him like air bubbles just underneath his skin, and buried his face against the crook of Ron's neck which was promising peace.
The thought that when he woke up he would not be alone for the first time in over a year shuddered through the core of his heart. It left a warm glow as he surrendered himself to sleep.
Feedback: Oh, pretty please! Feel encouraged to do the concrit thing before this goes out to anyplace else!
And bloody *heck*! Yet another fic intended solely for
pornish_pixies and then running *way* over the wordcount max!