The walls of the room are the same shade as Draco’s favorite ice cream.
That’s all Lucius can focus on as he sits in the uncomfortable chair and stares at the sickeningly bright color that reminds him of summer days long gone. He has no idea where his son is, hasn’t heard from his own wife in over a year (425 tick marks on the wall of his cell since the last time he wrote the small ‘N’ to signal a visit), and now he’s stuck in this ice-cream colored room at a table that is too small.
He’s thankful that the room is lit with candlelight. He can be far more imposing if whomever they send in to question him this time can’t see him clearly. His face is gaunt, pale from months in a cold, dark cell, and he’s too thin to seem threatening. There isn’t much danger from a man whose ribs are visible beneath tight skin and that looks far more fragile than he feels. His mind is still sharp and he has spent the time since the Aurors arrived in his cell until this moment to figure out a way to best manipulate his current situation.
This is an opportunity, after all, and he is not foolish enough to waste one when they are so few and far between these days. He has been rotting in that dank cell, his body wasting away from a diet of lumpy cereal and beans whenever the guards even bother to feed him, for months since his last visitor. This is the first time he’s been brought out since shortly after he was put in and he knows he needs some sort of plan.
He’s been bathed, his skin is clean and his hair is washed so that it falls past his shoulders in a soft curtain instead of dirty greasy clumps. Hot water is a luxury he has forgotten but now that he’s felt it against his skin once again, he knows he wants more. He does not remain silent out of loyalty to Voldemort, contrary to what many may believe. A foul man with a lack of breeding does not earn unconditional loyalty from a Malfoy regardless of what silly ink is used. No, he remains silent because he knows his wife and son are expendable to both sides and he can keep them alive, potentially, if he refuses to speak.
It is rather a shame that Narcissa has not been to visit in such a long time. If she is dead, she’s forgiven, of course. If not, well, her life may very well be worth an exchange for frequent hot showers and clean robes even if they are a dark shade of blue that does nothing for his pale complexion. At the moment, he can’t think of anything better than warm water. It has never been said that Lucius Malfoy is a selfless man so why start now? It only messes up the scheme of things to suddenly grow a conscious, after all, so perhaps it is time to start talking. It hinges on what he is offered.
They make him sit in the ugly little room for nearly an hour before someone finally deigns to pay attention to him. By this time, he’s annoyed and snarling at the closed door. A man enters and Lucius nearly laughs. They sent a Weasley to deal with him. How quaint. He doesn’t know this one’s name. Arthur has a dozen of the annoying vermin running around tainting the world, after all. This one has long hair that is pulled back and tied with a scrap of leather. He’s tall and gangly, lacking any real muscle beneath his robe from what Lucius can tell in the way it hangs from his shoulders, and his hands are big and steady.
It’s unfortunate they didn’t send the one who works for the Ministry and is such an arse kisser. Lucius rather likes the idea of having a Weasley kissing his arse. It’s been far too long since anyone---well, now was not the time nor place to think of such things. This one is what he’s stuck with anyway. Not one easily intimidated, he decides after one sweeping glance. He keeps his expression neutral when the boy looks up and he sees harsh scars on one side of a very handsome face.
Perhaps ickle Molly Prewitt shagged around because he refuses to believe Arthur Weasley could father such a remarkable specimen. The scars intrigue him but he conceals his interest in the deep wounds that mar beauty. He tends to appreciate corrupted beauty despite his interest in surrounding himself with pretty things. He arches a brow and makes a pretense of yawning.
The Weasley smirks and Lucius wishes he had his wand. With five words, he’d have this insolent boy nude and secure then they’d see who was smirking and who was begging for any number of things. Polite formalities are taken care of quickly. This one is restless, has far too much raw energy to be contained in that gangly frame, and Lucius itches to break him as the minutes pass by. He hides his surprise at hearing that Draco is on the run and is somewhat relieved to hear that Snape is with his brat child. Maybe this has at least forced Draco to finally stop being a sniveling coward.
He stops paying attention when the usual questions begin. Do they really think Voldemort confided specifics to him? He thought it was rather obvious when he was left at the Ministry and that bitch sister-in-law of his was saved that it was a big hint to anyone with half a brain that he was basically expendable. Of course, dear old Tom has no idea what all Lucius really knows. The very idea of being kept in the dark while Peter of all wretched creatures gained their Lord’s confidence had ensured many days spent gathering information. He’d trade some of it, for the right price.
The Weasley asks ridiculous questions. There is no mastery or finesse at all. For once he actually misses being interrogated by Moody. He may be crazy but he at least asks interesting questions. The color of the room is starting to grow on him. He smirks and tells the Weasley what exactly he can do if he wishes to get any suggestions on where to look for Draco, delighting in the red flush that enters the freckled cheeks and near growl from the other man. Shame, really. Lucius is pretty sure he’d enjoy having his cock sucked by the damaged beauty.
He is instantly alert when the Weasley draws his wand. He sneers as he waits for the curse and is rather surprised when a Muffling charm is spoken instead. His surprise grows as he finds himself pulled from his chair as if he weighs no more than a flobberworm and pushed back against some sort of cabinet. A breath escapes his lips in a soft hiss as the Weasley looks straight at him, a knowing smirk on his lips, and removes his robe, revealing a nude body that is covered in freckles and has more muscle than Lucius thought.
It doesn’t take three pants of breath before his own robe is open and the Weasley is on his knees with Lucius’ cock in his mouth. The boy knows what he’s doing and Lucius grips the wooden cabinet as his cock is sucked, squeezed, and licked. His eyes close and he whimpers as a rough palm squeezes his balls. His entire cock is inside the Weasley’s mouth, so deep he’s fucking the boy’s throat, and still he moves back and forth licking the entire time.
Lucius bites his lip when he feels a finger press against his arse and he pulls back, his grip on the cabinet tightening as a wet tongue licks his balls before a willing mouth sucks them as the finger presses harder. He keeps his eyes shut, deciding that not seeing it means he’s not actually allowing it, a fucked up logic certainly but one that he accepts. The mouth starts sucking his cock again as the finger wiggles inside his arse. It begins to move in an obscene rhythm that matches the slurping and sucking of his cock.
It’s been far too long since anyone has touched him, since he’s even had the energy to touch himself, and he comes far too soon. His hips rock forward as he fucks the tight wet heat of the boy’s mouth and he spills with a low grunt of effort. He opens his eyes and looks down, watching the Weasley lick and suck eagerly until he’s completely spent. The finger is thicker and Lucius realizes there is another inside him, rubbing and touching and stretching. He sees a very smug smile on the Weasley’s lips as he bucks back against the fingers and resists the urge to moan.
The Weasley licks come from his lips and leans back so Lucius can watch him spit in his hand, wrap his fingers around his long cock and start to wank. The head is coated with pre-come, just like a whore Weasley to get so aroused sucking a man’s cock, and Lucius unconsciously licks his lips as he watches a drop of pre-come slide past the smooth head to drip onto the boy’s long finger.
The table is hard against his belly as he’s shoved against it. His robe is around his shoulders and the Weasley is in his arse before Lucius can take a breath. It burns as the boy begins to move and Lucius closes his eyes and grits his teeth as he pushes back, wanting more. The sound of skin hitting skin and the rapid beat of his heart is all he hears as he’s fucked into the table by the Weasley. Fingers grip his hips tightly and he knows he’ll be bruised and marked by the time he’s taken back to his cell. His back is licked, scratched, and bit as the boy fucks him relentlessly.
Lucius falls against the table panting as the Weasley sinks deep and groans. The boy pulls out and Lucius feels wet warmth all over his back and sore arse. When he opens his eyes, the boy is dressed and seated in his chair with a smirk on his lips. Lucius runs his hand through his hair as he stands up, grimacing as he feels the come on him. He buttons his robe and sits back down, concealing a cringe as his arse makes contact with the seat.
The Weasley asks his silly questions again. This time, Lucius gives him a tidbit. It’s nothing major, just a location that may no longer be useful, but the boy is smug and believes he’ll earn a ‘Good job, Son’ from dear old Daddy. Lucius casually mentions knowing other things but feigns a forgetful memory as he looks from the ice cream colored walls to the Weasley. Perhaps another day, he finally suggests smoothly as his gaze lingers on the boy’s lips. He reaches across the table slowly and lazily wipes his thumb across the Weasley’s full bottom lip to catch a stray drop of come.
He leans back and licks his thumb, arching a brow as he makes the silent challenge. He is very pleased when the boy growls softly and nods once, so subtle he almost misses it, before he collects his papers and stands. The Weasley meets his gaze fully without backing down and Lucius feels a spark rekindle that he believed long ago extinguished in his cold dank cell of Azkaban. They both smirk as the challenge is acknowledged and accepted. After the Weasley leaves, Lucius leans back in his chair as he waits for the Aurors who will take him back to Hell and smiles.
Perhaps there is something better than warm water after all.
The End
The Weasley
Story Notes:
1/7/06