(Absolutely, Positively) The Last Time
(Graphic!) Slash, Lucius/Sirius. Back when things were simple and Moldy ol' Voldie wasn't an issue, a Marauder and a Death-Eater-in-training promise themselves that this is absolutely, positively the very last time.
Warnings: Graphic Slash/Lemon and over-usage of the expletive 'fuck'. What's the saying? "Swearing is the resort of a dullard."
The force with which Lucius's back hit the oaken door caused an impressive amount of dust to shower onto him, and the curse he hissed at me before I got my tongue in his mouth could have peeled the paint from the walls—if the walls hadn't long ago lost all the paint they'd had and returned to their eternal, Manor granite. He tried to say something else, probably something nasty by his glare, but now that I had him I wasn't letting go; I've found that a gaggled Lucius is a much more pleasant person to be around—or fucked blind, as the case may be.
The way he twisted against me, struggling against my grip on his wrists and trying to extricate my legs from between his was the very definition of arousing, even though he was definitely not trying to be so. When Lucius tries, there isn't a limp wand in the roo—
He fucking bit me! Hard enough, and on the tongue, that I growled. A poor choice on that front, Lucy—the only thing I like better than being bit is doing the biting myself. He rolled his eyes at me, then made a muffled noise of surprise when I caught his lower lip and returned the favor.
He jerked his head away from me, but he was sweating now, breath starting to come in little pants. Point to Padfoot. "Goddamn it, Black, I thought we'd agreed!"
"On what?" I inquired politely as I turned my somewhat toothy attentions to his exposed neck and collar. "That you're an absolute prat, or obviously need to get laid in the worse possible way— there are so many…"
"Take your pick, but the one I mean is that this was not going to happen again!" he panted. "That this was not working, that I hate you and you hate me, that the only thing we have in common is—"
"Fuck agreements." I hiked him up a few more inches, rocked forward experimentally. I knew I'd hit gold when his tirade stuttered out and he let his head fall back with a thunk, leaving more of that lovely, lovely neck open for me to set my teeth into. The button-down got buttoned down, and the tie undone as I pressed tiny biting kisses to him.
"S-stop." I knew he was trying to sound commanding, but with that little hitch in his breath as I rocked up again and the slightly breathy tone, all he did was stroke the flames higher.
"Make me," I muttered into his collarbone. The hollow there was—had been—one of my favorite places to mark him. I could feel him tensing, anticipating the bite… and who was I to disappoint?
"Fuck!" He jerked in my arms. "Black!"
Lucky is the doggie who likes to bite, if one cool spring evening he finds in his distant cousin a willing and able pain slut. I grinned, and sucked hard on my mouthful, causing him to shudder against me with a low moan. Mmmm.
We didn't exactly like each other. To tell the truth, I don't think it would have been this good if we did. With Lucius, I didn't have to be kind or considerate, and he didn't expect those things from me. It was liberating. It was viciously, tongue-cleavingly, mind-numbingly satisfying.
It was the reason was I was… bending… our agreement.
I worked my way back up to his mouth, and met little resistance as I took it, plundered it, refused him any bit of room or release. When I broke the kiss, he was gasping from reaction and lack of breath. "Goddamn it," he panted. "Black, we agreed—"
"Lucius Malfoy, the amazing broken record," I muttered.
"—that this wouldn't happen again, that it was over and done with and we were going to forget it ever happened it the first place! What the bloody hell has gotten into you?"
"Honestly?" I said, swinging him abruptly around to deposit him on the narrow, brass bed (he made a very satisfactory squeak, like a little mouse, really—or perhaps that was the ancient bedsprings). "I'm here." I put a hand on either side of his face, bracing myself over him. "You're here." I brought my face down to his, seeing his pupils dilate and tasting his rapid breaths. "And—" I ground my hips into his, groaning a little myself at the quick whip of arousal the movement caused me, "—I'm horny, baby."
"I'd never have noticed," he squeezed out with an exasperated huff, attempting to brace his arms against my chest. I easily pinned them again, this time with one hand while I started pulling off his dress robes. He struggled hard, harder, but couldn't free himself; I saw in his eyes he didn't like that, not at all. "Been working out, have we?"
"Bit," I admitted while I laid his chest bare. The sight of all that unmarked skin, healed from the abuse I'd heaped on it earlier this year, sparked something feral in me I wasn't sure I could say came from Padfoot. I took a chance and released his hands, turning my attention to the bounty of flesh beneath me.
I'd always liked how responsive he was to the lightest, and heaviest touch. As I ran my tongue over his sternum I rubbed my thumbs around the areolas of his nipples, careful not to so much as brush the nubs. He shuddered, then wriggled when I ran my fingers teasingly over his ribs. He muttered, "Stupid—FUCK!" I chuckled, nipple caught hard between my teeth. He yanked my head up by the hair, yelping when I didn't let him go and only bit down harder, worrying it slightly. He jerked. "Fuck, fuck—"
"'M trying," I said, shoving a hand down his pants while the other twisted his free nipple cruelly.
"Fucking bast—ah! Bitch!"
"Make up your mind, why don't you?"
"I've made up my mind! I said—ah! that I never wanted to see you again and you— for fuck's sake, stop!"
I stilled, gazing up his body with my chin resting on his heaving stomach. My hands gripped his hips, chaste for the moment. He had two spots of red slashed high on his cheeks, and it was unexpectedly adorable. He stared back, breath uneven, with a slightly glazed expression.
"Do you want me to stop?" His lips, bruised a pretty pink, parted; probably tell me to piss off and die.
I kissed him, just under his bellybutton; the muscles below the soft caress quivered. Lazily, I traced an aimless path with the bare tip of my tongue, ending at the catch of his trousers. One hand, seemingly of its own violation, came to rest in my hair. "Don't."
"Don't what?" My voice was a purr, low and quiet. I was probably going to loose him if I went too fast; so, slow. My fingers stroked lightly over the rougher fabric. I'd undone the catch, but not the zipper before he stopped me, and now toyed with it, running a finger up and down the teeth. He shuddered, gaze narrowed and hot.
With those eyes on me I began again, tongue making brief forays under the skin that was exposed as the zipper parted, achingly slowly. He squirmed, a little, and my eyebrows rose as more and more skin was exposed.
"Malfoy," I murmured as a little flare of lust closed my throat, "you aren't, by any chance, completely naked under…?" And my tongue drew an arrow on the smooth skin between his hipbones.
"And what it I am?" he responded with a tinge of amusement in his voice. His fingers, perhaps unintentionally, stroked over my scalp. My hands were restless, kneading in place on his thighs, and he bucked slightly into them.
"That could be a problem, if you wanted me to stop." I hooked my fingers onto his waistband, ready to jerk them down, and his hands vised over them. A bit of a rather ridiculous tug-of-war resulted, and we glared at each other.
"I want you," I ground out. "Now."
"Fuck it!" I surged back up his body, he recoiled, and I used his resulting unbalance and a few smacks to get those fucking trousers finally off. Suddenly, he was completely and gloriously nude, excepting the dress shirt hanging off his elbows and that loosened, strangely sexy tie. Furious, he caught my eye and for some reason flushed clear down to his chest. I grinned.
Red all over, he wasted no time in socking me in the jaw and making a run for it. I caught him half off the bed, on his stomach now as he writhed and panted, and maybe I'm more twisted than I thought because the harder he tried to get away and the deeper his scratches were, the more I wanted it, the more I wanted him. I jerked him back, and the shirt came off, the tie I left and then I knelt, still fully clothed, between the splayed knees of one seriously pissed-off Lucius Malfoy. I ground into him and he groaned, breath hitching in his throat as my hands spread him wider. I wanted him to fucking feel this.
"Asswipe," he snapped out, though his breath was almost gone. "You're going to rape me? It that it?"
"I won't have to," and God, he made me angry. Rape him? He wanted it as badly as I did. I'd make him say it. I told him as much, growled it as the feel of him, even though my clothing, burned through me.
"I n—aa-aah!" He cried out, a sweet note of surprised agony as I bit him on the junction of throat and shoulder, ungentle, and followed the reddening mark it left with a series of the same, down his back, sucking on vertebrae almost as hard as I bit. And he liked it.
He was arching into me before I even reached the middle of his back, but once I sunk my teeth into the first mouthful of that ass he was completely mine, moaning like a whore and jerking with each new welt I raised on him. Those words—please oh please, I want you, do itnow—tumbled from his lips like a waterfall, every single syllable hypocrisy. Prat.
I paused long enough to strip out of my own clothes; the trousers I left for now, but my own robes and shirt had to go and that tie was strangling me.
Freed, my thumbs stroked idly along the inside curve of his ass, smirking widely as he peered back at me, mouth hanging open as he gasped and tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. "Shit, you're rough," he whispered. "You'd better fucking have some lube."
I shrugged, hitching his hips higher. "Sorry. We'll have to make due."
"Make do my ass!"
"Well, yes." I lowered my mouth back to his tailbone, let a breath ghost over him. His eyes, stilled locked with mine, widened almost comically.
"Black?" he said disbelievingly. "You—can't—"
I spoke directly against him, letting my breath wash over him and reveling in the helpless little whimper he couldn't quite swallow. "I can. I will."
At the first touch of my tongue to his flesh I had to hold on tightly as his body attempted to levitate off the bed. The noise he made was a soft scream, but it only got louder as I explored him, first circling and enjoying the wild thrusts, then penetrating, stretching and tasting him as deeply as I could. I used my fingers, searching. "God,God!" I memorized the spot and began to stroke his slick cock in time, and listened as he (loudly) lost his mind, praising me and cursing me in equal amounts.
By the time I moved back up his body, he was a shivering mess, quaking as one hand smoothed up his spine while the other jerked open my pants. I was beyond ready for this.
"Ready or not," I purred in his ear, rubbing myself against him. "Here I—fuck!"
Without warning, Lucius slammed himself down on me, with an explosive moan of relief as his head hung down between his arms. Unprepared for that hot, tight grip, I felt a little lightheaded myself. "Way to warn a body before you do that, huh?"
"I want it, you bastard. I want you, so fuck me."
"Yes," I panted, too far gone to care anymore. "Now."
The rhythm we made was punishing; it had to have hurt him because it was hurting me, for fuck's sake, but the lines of his body as he arched into every thrust I gave him, the way he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in fierce satisfaction when I hit him where he needed it most, was beautiful. He was beautiful.
I would never say that out loud, and he'd never say the same of me.
But when I cried out his name, when it all became too much and the beauty of him overwhelmed what little control I had left; just as he came all over my hand and the dusty bedsheet some servant of a hundred years ago had left behind, he whispered, almost too low to hear, "Sirius…!"
And as we lay limp, sweaty and tangled up in each other on the bed with the ancient springs, I dragged him closer and sighed his name into the snarled strands hair that stuck to his neck.
"This is the last time." He spoke into the dimness of the room, sun growing weaker outside the window.
"… that's what you said before."
"Oh? Maybe this time I really, positively mean it."
His laugh was a bit cynical, but then, we were both a bit cynical these days.
He shivered, and I pulled him closer still.
"I'll never love you."
Silence. I waited.
He spoke, slowly. "… and this is absolutely, positively the last time. Right?"
So, yeah, this is a parting gift for anyone, and I'm not saying they haven't DIED in the interim, who read "Old School" when it was posted THREE YEARS AGO and still occasionally send me reviews like, "please oh pwease update someday omg I love ur story bye". I love you too.