Captive

Title: Captive
Author: LdDurham
Author's website or livejournal if applicable: http://lddurham.livejournal.com
Beta: deathangelgw
Rating: ADULT+
Challenge Scenario: 2) The 5 scenes are set in 5 different years.
Summary: Lucius receives a visitor.
Warnings/Spoilers: Post-war, sexual situations. No spoilers.

Year One

He had to admit that it wasn’t as creepy as he had thought it would be. Depressing, defeating, and morose it was, but creepy? No. He supposed it had to do with the lack of Dementors and the fact that they had always held a special terror in his heart.

The guard let him in with only a nod and silently led him down one of the darker corridors. This occupant had his very own wing – how appropriate. There was minimal lighting as they neared the door and the guard silently moved a handle. The grimy door slid upwards, showing behind it bars. And behind those bars was the man he had come to see.

“A visitor. How nice,” the cultured voice spoke. “You’ll have to forgive me. The place is not as tidy as I would like for such an illustrious guest.”

Harry looked at the guard who nodded and left; his footsteps rang loudly down the corridor until with a slam of a door, he was gone. Harry then allowed himself to concentrate on the man behind the bars. The white blond hair had seemed to grow even longer but was not nearly as lustrous as he remembered. It hung in strings down the man’s back and chest. The wardrobe, also, was not nearly as formidable as the traditional and fashionable robes he had once worn. Now a simple top and bottom were all that clothed him from the chilly air circulating around. The cheeks had become hallow and the elegant hands a bit bonier, but still… no one would mistake the man for anyone other than Lucius Malfoy.

“And what brings you to my humble abode, Mr. Potter? Have the celebrations gotten boring? Your fans found a new idol?”

Harry took a step closer to the bars. “No. It’s been a year since the war ended.”

“Really? Well, time does fly when one is having fun. I had no idea so much of it had passed.” And Harry believed him.

“Actually, it’s been a year to the day since Draco died.”

“Ah.”

Harry took another step closer. “Do you mourn him at all?”

“Is this the purpose of your visit, Potter?” the voice had now become a bit harsher. “Do you wish to revel in a father’s grief?”

“No, I just wanted to know if you actually had any grief for him.”

“What, you have found a post-mortem sense of friendship for my son? I hope you don’t expect me to believe that.”

“No. I never liked him. But I had to know if you ever cared about him. You led him to his death. Programmed him for it, actually. Do you have any remorse for any of it?”

There was only silence for quite some time and Harry wondered if the man was going to bother answering. Then, with the faintest sound of a deep breath, the words floated out of the murky darkness. “Yes, Potter. I have regrets. …And grief.”

Year Two

Once again, the place was dark and depressing as he walked down the gloomy hallway. The guard opened the metal door, exposing the bars, and then left.

“I did not think you would actually come, Potter. I’m impressed.”

Harry stepped up to the bars. “I wrote to you that I would.”

“Yes, so you did.” The voice came out of the dark and then Lucius emerged into the light. He blinked faintly and then smiled graciously. “I am still surprised, though.”

“I’m glad that they gave you the clothing.” Harry inspected the simple but cleaner and warmer garb he had sent. The casual, yet very Wizarding attire suited Lucius much more than he would have thought. In fact, it made him less intimidating and more human.

“Well, there is not much reason to punish a man with poor clothing when he will never set foot out of here. I am sure they believe I will be punished enough.”

Harry nodded at the words. “And the meals have increased, right? I had Arthur put that mandate in, personally.”

Lucius smiled. “That must have killed the man. But yes, the meals have improved greatly.”

Again, Harry nodded at the words. “Good.”

“Tell me, Potter. Do you do these things – the clothes, the meals, the letters – to help me or to make sure I am not able to slip away into morose oblivion?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly. “I just think they need to be done.”

“Ah. Once a hero, always a hero, hmm? Even to those undeserving.”

“I guess.” Harry shrugged.

“And what do you get out of it? I would think that you wouldn’t want to remember a classmate’s death, even if it was someone you didn’t like. War is very hard on the soul, I am told.”

“Yes, it is. That might be why I come. Or are you saying you don’t have one? A soul, I mean.”

“I could hardly guess at my having one or not. Nor as to what shape it could be in now.” There was an amused smirk on the older man’s face. Harry tilted his head to the side.

“I think you and I are the only one’s who think about him. About Draco.” He looked down for a moment. “Everyone else has moved on and I seem to be stuck -- a captive of war. I can’t move on.”

“And so you come to me, the one person you believe can understand your feelings, hmm?” Again, the tone was amused. Harry didn’t let it bother him.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“I would suggest, Potter, that you reconsider who you are visiting. I am not a tame monkey in a cage. I have lost my magic, but not my mind.”

“Yeah,” Harry said calmly. “I know.”

Year Three

Harry didn’t even notice the outer buildings or the corridors. He impatiently waited until the guard had left and then immediately went to the bars.

“Why did you write that?” he demanded.

A soft chuckle and then Lucius emerged from the dark corner. “Did I upset you? Confuse or distress you? Is that why I did not receive a reply?”

“I’m not upset,” Harry said, though his voice betrayed him. “I’m just… not sure why you wrote it.”

“Perhaps because I have been locked in here much too long with only my memories to occupy me. Or perhaps I am tantalized by a beautiful young man who comes to see me once a year and it has fired my fantasies. Or maybe, Potter, it was merely me being perverse and trying to create some entertainment for myself.”

Harry looked at him hard. “And what if I had written back? What if I had written other things like what you wrote me?”

“Then I would have had something to accompany my lonely nights, yes?”

Surprisingly, Harry chuckled. “I just can’t see you doing that.” He answered the questioning look. “I just can’t see Lucius Malfoy wanking in the dark.” He laughed again after saying it aloud.

With a smile, the older man took another step closer. “Yes, well, one must do what one must. And having visuals is most enchanting.” Harry stopped laughing and looked away. “Does the idea that I pleasure myself while thinking of you, disturb you?”

Harry was silent.

“Does the thought of my calling your name softly as I climax, anger you?” Lucius’s voice dropped lower. “Or, perhaps, intrigue you?”

“I… I don’t know.” Harry answered. “I guess what ever you want, seeing as how you’re in here till you rot.” His eyes flashed green fire in the light.

Lucius smiled again. “Very good, Potter. You’re learning how to defend yourself against more than wands.”

“You know, if you were just a bit nicer…” Harry trailed off in controlled anger and a golden eyebrow rose in surprise.

“If I were, would you act out what I wrote to you? Perhaps if I called you ‘Harry’, you would mouth the filthy words I want to hear?”

“Do you want to hear them, or are you just toying with me as your only entertainment?” Harry asked firmly, looking directly into those gray eyes.

“Maybe both.”

Harry pulled himself as close to the bars as he could, watching Lucius’s reaction change from smugness to wariness. “Oh, Gods, Lucius, fuck me!” Harry whispered. “I want it so bad! I want you inside me… my mouth, my arse. I just want it, want you!”

Lucius’s chest began to move rapidly in quick breaths and he made a step closer to the bars. Harry pulled away with a smirk and walked down the corridor without a look back.

Year Four

“You wore the robe I asked you to,” Lucius said in greeting when Harry appeared. “You look much better in traditional clothes than that Muggle attire.”

“My friends hate the fact that I visit you once a year,” Harry said with a smile. “They would lock me up if they knew I wrote to you every week and saw what I was wearing.”

“And does this naughtiness excite you, Harry?” Lucius had a smug grin on his face and a glint in his eye.

“Maybe,” Harry answered. He pressed up against the bars. “Maybe it does.”

“And did you follow the other request?”

Harry nodded. “I’m not wearing anything underneath,” he answered, stepping back and running his hands down the front of the green robes. Lucius’s eyes tracked his every movement. “Do you want me to continue?” he asked, referring to a particular passage in the torrid letters that had passed between them in the last year. Lucius merely nodded.

Harry moved back up to the bars and slowly opened the front of his robe. His hands pushed in and found his nipples, making them hard for his audience. He trailed his fingers down his abdomen, slowly opening each button until with a final movement, he was exposed. Lucius moved forward then and Harry waited with his breath held. The touch wasn’t gentle or timid, but it did convey exactly what Lucius wanted it to. Pleasure. Pleasure gained from his hand – given to Harry only by Lucius. Harry couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped his mouth as Lucius manipulated him perfectly.

“Turn around and lift up your robe,” Lucius ordered. Harry nodded and tried not to show his disappointment at losing that hand around his cock. He faced out into the empty and gloomy corridor, gathering his robe up from behind. When he had it bunched at his hips, a hand slid to his thigh and urged him back against the bars. Harry wasn’t sure what he expected, but he couldn’t stop himself.

The hand on his thigh slid around to the front and Harry moaned softly as it caressed him. The other hand moved to his arse, petting and fondling. “Do you want me inside?” a gruff voice asked into his hair as his head rested against the metal.

“I… don’t know,” Harry gasped. Suddenly Harry’s mouth was wrapped around three fingers. He sucked and licked at them until they were pulled away. Not a moment later, those fingers were beginning to breach his arse. He grunted at the pain.

“No pleasure without pain, Harry,” Lucius murmured, pushing further in. “Not true pleasure, anyway.” Two of the fingers were sheathed and were slowly working in and out. Harry winced, trying to hold in his whimpers, refusing to show lack of spine to this man. The third finger was used, but its sole purpose seemed to be striking at the nub inside. Harry’s knees nearly buckled as he rode the knife edge of pain and pleasure.

“Now, you’re mine.”

Year Five

The fullness was unbelievable. Harry couldn’t imagine that he was not dying. The pain was amazing – the pleasure was intoxicating. With his bound hands, Harry grabbed hold of the metal bar and used it to try to pull himself away. He just needed a breather before he went insane.

“Ah ah, Harry. There is no escape for you,” Lucius said in a sing-song voice into his ear. Elegant hands gripped his fingers and pulled them away from the bar.

“Gods…” Harry moaned and then gasped as his cock was squeezed hard. He saw stars. The he was rammed into again… and again. “Lu…Lucius… I’m going to die!”

“And leave me without satisfaction?” Lucius laughed. “Oh no, my dear Harry, you will stay with me for many years to come!” And with that last word, Harry did come -- his cock released -- and he screamed into the cold cell. As if from another planet, Harry could feel Lucius brutally using his body until with a bitten off curse, Lucius filled him. Both of them panted, trying to return to their bodies.

It was Lucius who moved first, lifting himself off the younger man and untying the hands from the metal bed frame. Harry murmured a thank you and gingerly rolled onto his back, careful to keep weight off his left shoulder where he knew Lucius had bitten through the skin. Pale arms moved across him and then Lucius also laid down -- on his side – on the narrow bed.

“You will be here next week,” Lucius stated.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed as he looked up at the blackened stone ceiling. “Every week. That’s what the paperwork said.”

Lucius chuckled. “Yes, I am sure they were not happy to know we would be taking advantage of the conjugal visits that were originally in place for couples attempting children. Although, why an inmate would want to have a child that will never see him, be raised by him, is beyond my reasoning.”

“Maybe it’s love,” Harry said quietly. Lucius looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. “Besides,” Harry said a bit louder. “A week should be just enough time for me to heal.”

The other man chuckled darkly. “And what have these friends of yours said about your new marriage?”

“They stopped talking to me after I refused to go to counseling,” Harry answered. “They said that I was suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. That I needed to see a professional for the things I experienced during the war. I told them I was.” Both men laughed.

As they laid there in the cell and made plans for their next visit, it was clear they had both found solace in each other for the losses they had suffered; for the anger that Lucius held, the guilt Harry felt, and the remorse they both acknowledged but rarely spoke of.

And neither cared if no one else understood.

END