Furry Magic

Title: Furry Magic, chapter 83

Disclaimer: Hp is not mine!


Lucius rose up out of the steam like an ancient Ghod. His body shone pale in the dimness of the two fires that were the only lighting in the largest of the pride's bathing rooms. Red-gold high-lights danced over his ivory skin as he slowly walked up into the shallows. The room was filled with the members of the pride who were in residence at the Manor. They stood silent and solemn vigil as they witnessed the ceremony of the king passing along the care of one of his own to another.

Lucius looked neither right nor left as he advanced. His eyes were only for the slim young kitten he had taken as his own far too short a time ago. The one he had chosen to Mark and keep to himself, to cherish the gift of his body.

Troy also looked only into the light grey eyes of his king, tears welling in his eyes as he stood quietly, trying not to sob his anguish. He wanted to fling himself into the arms that had held him so tenderly, comforted him, pleasured him beyond his wildest imagination. He could not believe that it was his king's wish that he go with these other members of the pride, that he now would belong to them, and not to his shining king alone.

Troy was waiting for his king, chin high, and mouth trembling. His dark hair hung long and unfettered, a wondrous flow of ebony silk, his body nude. His eyes were locked onto the form of his king as the large man approached him. His face was worshiping, tragic, uncertain. The tears that had filled his eyes finally overflowed. He drew in a long, shuddering breath, squeezing his hands into fists as he waited. Lucius sluiced the water from his arms and met the youth in the shallows.

Lucius took Troy in his arms, holding him, bringing him up close to his own body, until he could feel the frantic beat of the young man's heart pressed to his own, hear the muffled sobs the kitten was fighting to keep back. He enclosed the crying youth, pressing consoling kisses to the sweet curve of the flawless cheek. He offered what comfort and reassurance that he was able, and didn't loosen his hold. Finally, Troy's arms crept around the man's shoulders, grasping tight, holding on. Lucius kissed him again, a soft touch of lip to lip. Lasting, staying, not wanting it to be ended. Pulling back reluctantly, eyes meeting again, gazes meshed.

Gently, he led the young man into the depths of the water, carrying him down below the surface, going down beneath with him, then lifting him above it, supporting him on top of the water as he washed the youth with his own hands. The hands of the king, carefully washing his Mark from the body of the one who had been only his own. The washing was thorough, patient, serving to reassure the Marked, as well as to clean off the last scent remaining on his skin.

He lingered over his task, knowing it would be a long time before he saw the boy after this day. He cleaned him from toes to hip, from hip to shoulder, arms, and throat, and lastly, with the most reverent of touches, cleaned his face and glorious hair. Fingertips finding the sweet softness of his lips. No part of him untouched, no part unremembered. Troy sobbed, feeling the finality of it all. He turned in the king's embrace and hid his face in the curve of the man's neck. Lucius finished his task, and carried Troy up out of the pool and to the edge where the two men waited. The Weasleys. Who would now be charged with the love and care of this precious kitten from their pride. The king's favored.

Bill and Charlie Weasley watched the ritual unfold. And they watched, breath caught in their throats, as the young man they had asked for and been granted, was carried, bare, from the steaming water. He was long limbed and delicately built, fragile appearing even though he was much stronger than any human of like size. Lucius brought him right to them. They knelt down as he neared. The kitten's face was tragic, as he struggled to be brave, struggled to obey his king's decree and accept the men who he was being given to. He tried and just managed to lift his head from the king's shoulder and look at the kneeling men. Lucius set him down next to them, keeping Troy's hand in his own.

Lucius held the hand of the boy that had been his to pleasure. He ran his other hand up the smooth neck and cupped the lovely face, his body bending down to offer one last public kiss to the young-ling. Their lips held, tasting, wanting, deeply sad, the taste of Troy's salty, mourning tears flavoring it with melancholy.

Lucius reached out and took the hands of the kneeling brothers, one by one and gave them each one of Troy's hands. Then he turned to face the door to the bathing room, and waited. Silently Bill and Charlie backed out of the room, leading Troy away from the king. Lucius might say a private farewell to the youth later, but for now the ritual was complete. He was no longer the king's Marked. He watched every step the youth took as he left. Then he was out of the room and gone.

A ripple of sound moved through the gathered pride, they came forward in a gentle wave to embrace their king, to touch him, stroke loving hands down his sides in recognition of his loss. They offered him soothing caresses, murmured their love and support, offering him comfort. They swarmed over him, careful not to crush him standing patiently in turn for their chance to give him aid. He stood tall and strong at first, then he bent into their hands, into the hard and soft hands of the men and women who touched him.

Kisses were dropped onto his skin, one after the other, offerings of tenderness, of recognition, even promises of lust slaked. They ran fingers through his hair, over his chest, the rest of his proud body, lingering over him, finally bearing him down to the furs pulled over to cushion him. They lay next to him, embracing him, trading places waiting for him to chose among them to select who would offer him the deepest comfort of their bodies for the loss of his Marked.

Harry stood and watched them go to his lover. Tears were gathered in his eyes as it came to him the sorrow that Lucius was feeling. He had thought this would be a moment of happiness, of relief, but instead he stood shocked by the level of pain, and mourning that filled the room. The king was hurting, the king was loved, the king needed, yet the king had lost what he needed most at this moment. There were only substitutes, every hand was not the hand of the one who Lucius was aching for. Harry wept, huge tears flowing down his face. Miserably he lowered himself to the ground and curled in on himself. He sobbed, wishing he could somehow heal the pain that filled this room to overflowing.

Strong hands lifted him up, cradled him against a muscular, warm chest. Warm lips kissed his swollen eyes, a deep voice offering him soothing sounds. A fall of coppery hair surrounded him, shielding him as he was rocked in the protective embrace.

"Harry." Graeme said, into his wildly tangled hair, dropping kisses onto the dark strands. "Don't cry, kitten. We will heal him. He needs our comfort. Do you understand?"

Harry sobbed. His fingers wound in the glinting, satin curls of the were-leopard holding him. He mourned the leaving of the boy he had never really known.

ne'ichan
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