Furry Magic
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Lucius
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
104
Views:
136,558
Reviews:
711
Recommended:
4
Currently Reading:
3
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Lucius
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
104
Views:
136,558
Reviews:
711
Recommended:
4
Currently Reading:
3
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
chapter 75
Title: Furry Magic, chapter 75
Disclaimer: I do not own HP.
Harry was sitting in the dark, a bare shadow in the corner of the room, a pale ghost, sitting on top of the furs that were the rooms only furnishings. He was alone, Graeme noted.
Graeme didn't bother to ask why Harry was sitting alone in the dark, thinking. He could feel the agonizing the boy was going through from where he stood. If he needed any more proof, Harry never reacted or turned to see who it was when Graeme entered the room, too deep in his own thoughts to notice he was no longer the only one in the room.
The decision for Harry to marry Lucius was the wrong one, unwise and unsafe. Graeme, as much as he unwillingly understood Harry's feelings, and how far he had been pushed, believed that. The traditions were wrong in this one case, but they should, they had to, be upheld. Lucius would lose much needed support and allies if he wed the boy instead of a female bride. The correct female, and Lucius would gain immeasurably. To the pride's benefit.
But. Harry was in pain. He had begun to accept small changes, allowed himself to enjoy being held, touched by others. He was starting to accept what it was to be pride. What Graeme was struggling to teach him. Only there was so much more he had to know, to experience, to accept.
Yet, none other had bedded him. It was not right. It should change, Harry should live the role of Chosen to the fullest extent, not use the title as he was to stay near Lucius, and for naught else. He had to be the Chosen for the pride, not for only his own interests. But, Harry was too wrapped up in the changes to calm and look at the events objectively. He was too bound up in the threat of loss to step back and listen to reason.
Graeme was here to do what he could to alter that. He stepped forward coming up close behind the Chosen, not missing the tension in the slender back. Smelling the fear. Knowing that what he was going to do, what he had to do, what was his duty to do was going to make it worse if he wasn't careful, and lucky. Harry was not going to want to take what Graeme offered, what he needed to have. What the Chosen was entitled to, and what the third was offering him. Yet, it was right. It was the way of the pride. And Harry was pride.
Graeme, when Harry still didn't react to his nearness, slid in behind the youth, moulding his body around the stiff and cool skinned one. Chilled. Graeme held him close. Harry jumped, drawing in a sharp, scared breath. Graeme wrapped his arms around him, murmuring his comfort, offering his own body's heat.
"Harry." He said, very quietly. "Will you listen to me? To what I have to say?"
"No. Don't. Please. Graeme. Please?" Harry's reply was a faint whisper of sound. His hands clutched at the arms that held him, making it clear he was talking about the words he didn't want to hear, that he knew were coming. Not the touch. Not the offer of companionship. That, he wanted, craved.
He shivered, and Graeme held him closer, feeling how Harry melted into his embrace. And he noted once more that the way this defiant young man surrendered was the most exquisite act that Graeme ever witnessed. When he'd seen it happen for Lucius, his king, it had been breathtaking. Now, the trust, the submission, was so much more. It humbled him, for he knew his own acts of surrender had never been so thorough nor so deep and complete. But, he would try.
"I can't do what you ask." Harry breathed against the forearm that was around him. Graeme wondered briefly through the growing frustration how he could give in so...perfectly on one point, physically, and yet remain absolutely steeled against another point, unyielding.
"You are not doing this."Graeme growled. Even as he nuzzled the soft curls of hair at Harry's nape. "You aren't thinking about really doing it are you?"
"Doing what?" Harry asked, honestly puzzled. He was distracted by the muscles surrounding him, the warm hands running up and down his cold arms. The long legs that were spread on either side of his own. They felt good. And the thick, very long chestnut/auburn hair that enfolded him, fell over his own shoulder, across his chest, Graeme's luxurious locks. He turned his face involuntarily into the silken strands, smelled Graeme's male musk on them, closed his eyes and breathed. His heart beat began to accelerate.
"Forcing Lucius to marry you. It will cost him too much. That is not the role of the Chosen. To cost the pride." Graeme said so quietly, so gently, that it took a moment for Harry to understand what he had said. He frowned, but it was hard to be angry, he felt drained instead. He struggled inwardly to marshal his righteous indignation.
"I am not forcing him to marry me. But, I am not going to stand by and let him marry someone else." Was the sharp retort, the sharpness faded quickly though, as Graeme continued his petting. It was mesmerizing being touched like this. Not sexually, but sensually. The touch wandering over his chest, his belly down over his trembling thighs. Harry had no urge to progress to sex, but he wanted this, whatever it was, to continue. Even while he was getting a bit mad. The pride's third was explaining.
"It is the way of the pride. The king must be married. Even if no other member of the pride is married, the king must be. It is tradition. Alliances depend on it, the stability of the prides and packs, the nests. The relations between the kings, it all relies on the traditions, knowing what to expect from each other." Graeme said against the skin of Harry's neck. Harry lifted his chin, let the feeling of that hot breath move over him like a wave. His skin tightened, softened, he moaned, dragging his answer from himself. Forcing it out in words that Graeme could decipher.
"There is nothing in the laws that say the bride of the king must be female. And are you implying none of the other kings have taken male lovers? Are they horrified by the thought?" Harry said, even as he let his eyes fall closed, let his body fall back to rest more securely in the man's arms. He wanted the fangs on him, scraping his throat, yes, just like that.
"Think, kitten. The Queens will not tolerate it. The females are half of us, it is their traditional position of power. They won't give it up to you. Any more than the males will let a queen rule the pride, or any group. They won't let you start a precedent." Graeme said, when he had lifted his head from the bite-able flesh. Harry didn't react to the statement. Graeme sighed. Now the hard part.
"It is always been. It is tradition that the king marry a female. You will not prevent him." He said, making his voice firm and commanding. Harry's answer was just as firm, but not so commanding. Still, Graeme knew the youth meant it, every word.
"Yes. Graeme, I will. I won't stand by and let him take a woman, or anyone but myself to wed."
"It is not your choice. You have no say. Relent, don't pit yourself against tradition."
"I do." Harry sighed, rolling so he lay half atop Graeme, pinning him as much as Graeme held him. His fingers dug in, not hurting but far stronger than he should have been. "If there is one among the female brides who thinks she can take me, then let her try. I will stand against any and all of them, each one who comes for him. They will not win him from me, I claim him as my own."
"No. It will turn the other kings against him." Graeme insisted, testing the kitten's hold, finding it secure, unbreakable, yet not painful. "You must not force him to this." He said meaning two things.
"I have to." Harry's eyes filled with tears, also meaning two things. His hand wound in the long hair, tightening. "Don't you understand?"
"I do, Harry. More than you believe I do." Graeme said, at last. "I know you love him. I know you want him. I know you are Draco's friend, and you don't want to see him and his child displaced."
"And...the other?" Harry asked. Moving up and over the larger man, pressing him back into the furs, the fire growing in his eyes, even as it burned in his belly.
"You are my king's Chosen. My pride's Chosen, I am here." Graeme said, partly answering Harry's question.
Graeme raised Harry's hand to his mouth and licked the shaking palm. A long, wet stroke of his tongue. Harry gasped, trying to pull away.
"No." He said. "I won't hurt you."
"Harry. Ghod's damn it. It won't hurt me. Use me. This is what I am here for. I am supposed to be for you. Don't you understand?" Graeme snapped. Harry was dazed-looking, his wants battling hard with his conscience. His impression of right and wrong.
"I..." He bent down without thought and raked his suddenly leopard fangs across the throat of his third. He felt the shiver, the bending to his will, the tremors in the body of the other. It drew everything within his belly tight. Surrender. He growled. Panted. Burned. "This..."
"Yes. You are alpha for this night." Graeme whispered, going soft and receptive. "Take what you need from me. Let me serve."
Harry moved in, claws sprouting from one instant to the next, long and sharp. He sliced the clothing from the tall, strong body, not so carefully, drawing tiny drops of blood as well. He leaned down, licked at them, at the wounds, tasted salt, copper, male, heat, lust....
ne'ichan
faestion1@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: I do not own HP.
Harry was sitting in the dark, a bare shadow in the corner of the room, a pale ghost, sitting on top of the furs that were the rooms only furnishings. He was alone, Graeme noted.
Graeme didn't bother to ask why Harry was sitting alone in the dark, thinking. He could feel the agonizing the boy was going through from where he stood. If he needed any more proof, Harry never reacted or turned to see who it was when Graeme entered the room, too deep in his own thoughts to notice he was no longer the only one in the room.
The decision for Harry to marry Lucius was the wrong one, unwise and unsafe. Graeme, as much as he unwillingly understood Harry's feelings, and how far he had been pushed, believed that. The traditions were wrong in this one case, but they should, they had to, be upheld. Lucius would lose much needed support and allies if he wed the boy instead of a female bride. The correct female, and Lucius would gain immeasurably. To the pride's benefit.
But. Harry was in pain. He had begun to accept small changes, allowed himself to enjoy being held, touched by others. He was starting to accept what it was to be pride. What Graeme was struggling to teach him. Only there was so much more he had to know, to experience, to accept.
Yet, none other had bedded him. It was not right. It should change, Harry should live the role of Chosen to the fullest extent, not use the title as he was to stay near Lucius, and for naught else. He had to be the Chosen for the pride, not for only his own interests. But, Harry was too wrapped up in the changes to calm and look at the events objectively. He was too bound up in the threat of loss to step back and listen to reason.
Graeme was here to do what he could to alter that. He stepped forward coming up close behind the Chosen, not missing the tension in the slender back. Smelling the fear. Knowing that what he was going to do, what he had to do, what was his duty to do was going to make it worse if he wasn't careful, and lucky. Harry was not going to want to take what Graeme offered, what he needed to have. What the Chosen was entitled to, and what the third was offering him. Yet, it was right. It was the way of the pride. And Harry was pride.
Graeme, when Harry still didn't react to his nearness, slid in behind the youth, moulding his body around the stiff and cool skinned one. Chilled. Graeme held him close. Harry jumped, drawing in a sharp, scared breath. Graeme wrapped his arms around him, murmuring his comfort, offering his own body's heat.
"Harry." He said, very quietly. "Will you listen to me? To what I have to say?"
"No. Don't. Please. Graeme. Please?" Harry's reply was a faint whisper of sound. His hands clutched at the arms that held him, making it clear he was talking about the words he didn't want to hear, that he knew were coming. Not the touch. Not the offer of companionship. That, he wanted, craved.
He shivered, and Graeme held him closer, feeling how Harry melted into his embrace. And he noted once more that the way this defiant young man surrendered was the most exquisite act that Graeme ever witnessed. When he'd seen it happen for Lucius, his king, it had been breathtaking. Now, the trust, the submission, was so much more. It humbled him, for he knew his own acts of surrender had never been so thorough nor so deep and complete. But, he would try.
"I can't do what you ask." Harry breathed against the forearm that was around him. Graeme wondered briefly through the growing frustration how he could give in so...perfectly on one point, physically, and yet remain absolutely steeled against another point, unyielding.
"You are not doing this."Graeme growled. Even as he nuzzled the soft curls of hair at Harry's nape. "You aren't thinking about really doing it are you?"
"Doing what?" Harry asked, honestly puzzled. He was distracted by the muscles surrounding him, the warm hands running up and down his cold arms. The long legs that were spread on either side of his own. They felt good. And the thick, very long chestnut/auburn hair that enfolded him, fell over his own shoulder, across his chest, Graeme's luxurious locks. He turned his face involuntarily into the silken strands, smelled Graeme's male musk on them, closed his eyes and breathed. His heart beat began to accelerate.
"Forcing Lucius to marry you. It will cost him too much. That is not the role of the Chosen. To cost the pride." Graeme said so quietly, so gently, that it took a moment for Harry to understand what he had said. He frowned, but it was hard to be angry, he felt drained instead. He struggled inwardly to marshal his righteous indignation.
"I am not forcing him to marry me. But, I am not going to stand by and let him marry someone else." Was the sharp retort, the sharpness faded quickly though, as Graeme continued his petting. It was mesmerizing being touched like this. Not sexually, but sensually. The touch wandering over his chest, his belly down over his trembling thighs. Harry had no urge to progress to sex, but he wanted this, whatever it was, to continue. Even while he was getting a bit mad. The pride's third was explaining.
"It is the way of the pride. The king must be married. Even if no other member of the pride is married, the king must be. It is tradition. Alliances depend on it, the stability of the prides and packs, the nests. The relations between the kings, it all relies on the traditions, knowing what to expect from each other." Graeme said against the skin of Harry's neck. Harry lifted his chin, let the feeling of that hot breath move over him like a wave. His skin tightened, softened, he moaned, dragging his answer from himself. Forcing it out in words that Graeme could decipher.
"There is nothing in the laws that say the bride of the king must be female. And are you implying none of the other kings have taken male lovers? Are they horrified by the thought?" Harry said, even as he let his eyes fall closed, let his body fall back to rest more securely in the man's arms. He wanted the fangs on him, scraping his throat, yes, just like that.
"Think, kitten. The Queens will not tolerate it. The females are half of us, it is their traditional position of power. They won't give it up to you. Any more than the males will let a queen rule the pride, or any group. They won't let you start a precedent." Graeme said, when he had lifted his head from the bite-able flesh. Harry didn't react to the statement. Graeme sighed. Now the hard part.
"It is always been. It is tradition that the king marry a female. You will not prevent him." He said, making his voice firm and commanding. Harry's answer was just as firm, but not so commanding. Still, Graeme knew the youth meant it, every word.
"Yes. Graeme, I will. I won't stand by and let him take a woman, or anyone but myself to wed."
"It is not your choice. You have no say. Relent, don't pit yourself against tradition."
"I do." Harry sighed, rolling so he lay half atop Graeme, pinning him as much as Graeme held him. His fingers dug in, not hurting but far stronger than he should have been. "If there is one among the female brides who thinks she can take me, then let her try. I will stand against any and all of them, each one who comes for him. They will not win him from me, I claim him as my own."
"No. It will turn the other kings against him." Graeme insisted, testing the kitten's hold, finding it secure, unbreakable, yet not painful. "You must not force him to this." He said meaning two things.
"I have to." Harry's eyes filled with tears, also meaning two things. His hand wound in the long hair, tightening. "Don't you understand?"
"I do, Harry. More than you believe I do." Graeme said, at last. "I know you love him. I know you want him. I know you are Draco's friend, and you don't want to see him and his child displaced."
"And...the other?" Harry asked. Moving up and over the larger man, pressing him back into the furs, the fire growing in his eyes, even as it burned in his belly.
"You are my king's Chosen. My pride's Chosen, I am here." Graeme said, partly answering Harry's question.
Graeme raised Harry's hand to his mouth and licked the shaking palm. A long, wet stroke of his tongue. Harry gasped, trying to pull away.
"No." He said. "I won't hurt you."
"Harry. Ghod's damn it. It won't hurt me. Use me. This is what I am here for. I am supposed to be for you. Don't you understand?" Graeme snapped. Harry was dazed-looking, his wants battling hard with his conscience. His impression of right and wrong.
"I..." He bent down without thought and raked his suddenly leopard fangs across the throat of his third. He felt the shiver, the bending to his will, the tremors in the body of the other. It drew everything within his belly tight. Surrender. He growled. Panted. Burned. "This..."
"Yes. You are alpha for this night." Graeme whispered, going soft and receptive. "Take what you need from me. Let me serve."
Harry moved in, claws sprouting from one instant to the next, long and sharp. He sliced the clothing from the tall, strong body, not so carefully, drawing tiny drops of blood as well. He leaned down, licked at them, at the wounds, tasted salt, copper, male, heat, lust....
ne'ichan
faestion1@yahoo.com