Obscured Meanings

Hello! I'm sorry for this delay! I'm awful, working on another fic, and then school makes my life miserable x_x I'm going to be self-absorbed now and request lots of reviews, because no one has left me any, and this depresses me. Right, I own nothing, and if I did, I wouldn't be writing about it. I'd probably be off with most of the male characters, or watching them with one another. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. His steps were muted by the old, warped wood, mud splattered over his leather boots, a testament to man that Lucius Malfoy indeed did dabble in the banal things in life. He twisted one boot, marveling at its resistance when he tried to turn, and went up to the counter. Madame Balkan - he liked to call her this because of the blatant circles she'd draw on her cheeks and her white-powdered brow - smiled at him, waved bashedly, and lightly leaned over, indicating she was ready to serve him. It wasn't the most reknown place, no, but it was daylight, and there were few places open at such an inconvenient hour. No, it was the dark, the night and stars that brought and awoke the most interesting folk. Sadly, he did not have this commodity available. He would take what he could, and Madame Balkan knew him well enough. Well, she knew the tall man, with brown eyes and darker hair. Few could see past his charm; he made himself look more Easter European, probably due to the fact that he had been so immersed in the region as of late. "My dear, back so soon! What can we do for you?" She leered, but good-naturedly. The place was rather tame. She was rather wonton, lecherous, and would sometimes pick-pocket her customers, but she was a small mouse in his vicious, debris-ridden trail. Soft smile, shy, "I was wondering, if perhaps I could obtain similar accommodations as the time before," Lucius barely was heard, his whisper so breathy. He loved that he could fluster her. She thought he was meek. "But dear, you should have a top, I know a few who would just love to get their hands on you - all over." She licked her lips. Her teeth were yellow. Why oh why did the worst establishments have to be the only open ones when he was so desperate? He had had to travel by freight; magic would have been detected since several people had been trying to track him. They had known a new presence was nearby, and had suspicions as to the motive. However, he had not left a track in the blasted snow, and had only killed two men. Quick, painless, un-savored. "I prefer them gentle, madam, such as I am," eyes cast down, he caused a small blush to suffuse his pale cheeks. He had been so white, but it was a greater contrast with all the dark hair. She seemed to relent after eyeing him for another thirty seconds. She loved to look at him. He very quickly took out a small money-pouch and left it on the dusty counter. Her eyes registered its deposit, but she kept eying him. It would be his last visit there, he decided. "Perhaps I shall take my patronage somewhere else, as I see my request is being denied," he reached for the bag and was stopped by the woman, the hag, deftly pocketing it. "Luther!" Her eyes had remained on him the entire time. Perhaps it was best to not take his morsel to one of the rooms. He had a better idea. A rather lithe figure strode in, messy hair, though he was beautiful. He look like a flustered youth, but knew the look suited him. He was the mistress's best pair of hands - literally. He could rob you blind while his mouth was occupied with other regions of the body. Yes, he would do. He had once taken a couple of galleons from Lucius' pants while in said occupied position, but he hadn't minded - it was a fantastic blow, he could take the extra few. He had also been sure to thrust into him a bit more forcefully than before, causing the boy to slightly gag. It had caused him to grin. She nodded to the boy. "Take him to room G, and be back in two hours." Her hand went back to the bag, her eyes shifting to the left, counting. "Yes, two hours." "Fret not, my dear, you will receive him back in one piece," Lucius smirked. No use pretending if he was going to do what he pleased in the end, anyway. He held his arm out to the boy, Luther, a pet name, he was sure. It was a shady part of town, perhaps the religious name was to make the boy seem safer, more tame. He liked it. Lucius would see how tame he really was. The boy had looped his arm around Lucius', but then had slipped it off softly, to not offend, and lead up the stairs to the room. The stairs had creaked, and they had turned right at the landing. A tarred, golden G hailed their presence, and the door was opened. Lucius quickly grabbed the boy around the torso, his back up against his, while simultaneously kicking the door shut with his boot. "I hope you like surprises," Lucius whispered into his ear, dark hair tickling his cheek. "Do not let go, you've no idea where you'll end up." And with that warning, he apparated them out of the dilapidated building, his bundle not registering the change of atmosphere early enough to struggle from Lucius' grasp. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. "Stand still," he calmly stated, a command. The muggle had been surprised when Lucius had waved his hand and his hair and features quickly had shifted back. The piercing grey eyes swallowed him whole. Very quickly Luther had found himself up against a wall, was barely aware of how, but his world had gone black shortly afterward. He was just barely coming to now. Dark lashes fluttered. He had been sure to remove the boy's shirt before he had placed him in the shackles, and loosened his pants. There was not point to mess with buckles at a later stage; it would ruin the effect entirely. Lucius had been sure to light a few candles, the paintings in the room were baroque, dark, emotional and alive with shades and shadows. There was a portrait of a young man, looking almost blankly at the artist, grabbing onto the opening of his long jacket that Lucius had always admired. His grandmother would find him at times staring up at it in the attic, and when asked why he loved it so, he said, "Because his eyes cry, grandmamma. Do you not see his blue tears?" She would never let little Lucius come alone after that, and would sit in a near-by chair, stitch, and watch him as he stared, and started, til he finally came to her side, grabbed her hand, and returned to the downstairs study. And here was a boy that looked like his painted captive. Yes, Luther had that pride, that presence the painting exuded, the only difference being clothing and the general feeling of anachronism. Would he too cry blue tears? No, and here Lucius smirked, he would cry and beg for more, or lose his voice altogether. The boy looked up, his eyes finally focusing, shaking his head from side to side, and finally registering Lucius' presence. His hands reflexively curled around the shackles, slowly becoming aware that indeed his hands were fixed above him. Luther shifted his head as far to the right as he could, looked up, and confirmed it. He quickly tried to find Lucius again, there, standing in front of him with a smirk on his lightly pink lips. "Good morning, and welcome. Welcome to my little party. The main guests of the evening are you," and here he gestured to a few contraptions on a small table placed above a white towel, " and my comrades. You are here to entertain me, you scream when I say you should, you moan when I say you should, and remember that every sensation you feel tonight is because I have deemed it so." Lucius smiled again; he had spoken softly but he articulated every consonant, the words pristine clear reached Luther's ears and though still rousing himself from whatever slumber he had just had, he still could comprehend. He was to be a toy this evening. He finally noticed he was not wearing a shirt; how much had happened while he was out? Lucius circled behind him, and lightly draped the ends of a flogger against his back, the sensation causing him to shiver. Luther exhaled quietly, flinched and drew in a quick breath when Lucius brought it down across his back, the little leather pelts hitting muscle with a light-flicking sound. He then jerked the boy's head to the side, exposing the vein pulsating rapidly at the sudden shock of movement and bit down, hard, hard enough to leave an indent which were then pooled with little pools of blood. "You will listen to my every command, and stop breathing when I say. Let's begin." -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. Severus sipped the goblet absentmindedly while waiting for Lucius. He stared at the foyer, where the mahogany mantel elaborately displayed engravings of small flowers, the material shining and reflecting the fire's illumination. The contents of his drink were a dark red, opaque, and spiced his senses with a hint of tangerine. Lucius did always find the best spirits, aged to perfection and later tucked away in his vast cellar, only invited out when company arose, which was quite often. Severus considered Lucius a social whore, a butterfly, but he mentally cringed at even associating the two terms. As lovely as Lucius was he was dangerous, a predator, and a butterfly was most likely made humbled by his short lifespan. Did not the Saturniidae, after his metamorphosis, die of hunger for a lack of mouth, only able to procreate with little time to admire itself? But Lucius had all the time in the world, had the time to discover himself and his pleasures, procure and hoard all the admired, and then meddle with the rest of the world to fit his image. Severus twirled the contents of his glass; Lucius was his own God in the making, and would produce his own world in the course of his lifespan. Severus sighed. This was not how he wanted to spend his evening, waiting for Apollo, or some other vain and petty god - would Adonis be apt? - to finish primping and fussing over golden locks of hair. Or garments. His audience had been requested at five to nine, and here he was, sitting, drinking, and waiting. Punctuality was something he greatly desired, and Lucius was not obliging. The door opened smoothly, but enough of a sound was made to indicate its movement and the soft footsteps of boots on plush rugs. Lucius bowed his head slightly and stepped in, accepting the arched brow that Severus delivered, his annoyance plain. "Remind me to come at least an hour late to any meetings you set up, though I can't see what kept you in your quarters for so damn long." "What makes you think I was there all this time? Granted, I do enjoy admiring myself, it's not an hour-long activity. That only takes a couple of minutes, really Severus." The dark glare the other gave him was well-deserved, but a part of the game they'd always play, slight undercurrent of innuendo and Lucius' moral blight always a topical conversation. "Should I enquire as to what his hair color was, and if at any point his stature was similar to yours? Oh Narcissus, how long will you gaze at your reflection before you're cursed to turn into a flower, deciduous at that. You'll die and some dog will do you the favor of pissing on your grave," he smirked, brought the glass to his lips, and swiftly downed its contents. No, no, fights wouldn't do tonight. "I'd kiss this dog for fertilizing my home, so in the spring I can blossom and then spend my spring days staring at my reflection and ample blossoms. And I'd still have small bugs pruning my weeds and leaves, imagine that," and licked his lips, "we're brought back to our present situation. Let's prune, shall we? I brought you here because I want progress, my colleague in arms, on the situation with Fudge, and how much longer he'll try to appease the old man in the spectacles. I need to know where his allegiances lie, and whether I can expect him to be a problem in the next couple of weeks." "Currently, if you pay him off anymore suspicions will grow against you. Best to keep your skirts from rising too much, and offering more of a view." "Ah, how great of you to compare me to a whore. My skirts, however, I never raise. I believe I'm usually lifting the skirts, and Fudge does not wear pants. If ever he did wear pants, then it was to mock your robes, since you can only pick one color, not to mention it really does not do well for that pallor, Severus," Severus sneered, crossed his leg, and smoothed the fabric of his school attire. "It's called the brooding professor that captivates many young hearts, if I were fond of pedaphilic practices. Though I'm sure you've looked up all their skirts three times by now. Why do we even let you on the school grounds? Dumbledore will expect your audience in two weeks to discuss what he hopes to be an effective clause that will allow him to close all visiting ports within Hogwarts. Draco would be confined and, in such a short duration of time, perhaps be convinced of the benefits of siding with the Light." "I am the Light, and that will not do. I'm expected to leave - " "I know, I've already heard. I'm to assist you, apparently, in having Fudge veto the suggestion, calling the idea preposterous and more detrimental to the student body than an aid. As you can see my dilemma, I'd appreciate if you do not cause quite a scene. I cannot afford to draw attention to myself, and Fudge has a loose tongue; if he believes that my allegiance is with more with our snake-headed friend, then I would damage my reputation with the old coot. I also cannot tip the balance I have with the Dark Lord, either. Keep your pants on and zippers up," Lucius made a gesture for more bourbon and poured his friend another serving. "I would not dream to let Fudge know I'd been up his skirts. I can come and go as stealthily as any other. Keep the old man out of my panties for at least another fortnight, if not two, and then he can call for his convent shutdown at his boarding school. It should be done within a month, and then I can safely go on my journey. I still need to retrieve my parcel from underneath his nose." "If your charge aren't feeling your presence, I'm not sure you're as prolific as you claim to be, Lucius. How very disappointing if all this time you've been lacking." "My friend, if I were lacking, you'd be the first to know, now wouldn't you? I've another boy to dispose of, would you mind having the honors of choosing the location on the map this time?" "You really need to come up with a more efficient method that involves a bit more preparation than closing my eyes and picking a spot on a map," Severus drawled. "But it's far more exciting this way. Oh, look, you picked the Italian peninsula again. Good gods, couldn't you have picked a more festive spot?" "Have your way and let's go to Brazil, I'm tired of this game of yours." "As you wish..." and both men stood, drinks forgotten, to return to Lucius' private chambers, where tears not blue but red accented the dim lighting and cold air of the room.