Title: Always
For: [insanejournal.com profile] hpde_smutathon
Receiver: [insanejournal.com profile] cravache
Pairing: Lucius/Regulus
Rating: NC-17
Summary: But then he saw the need shimmering beneath the surface, always- always- predatory, but it was there and his heart beat just a little bit faster.
Warnings: Knifeplay, Bloodplay, Bondage, D/s
Word Count: 1905
Beta(s): The lovely [insanejournal.com profile] tinkerpixy and [insanejournal.com profile] pansydarkbloom, who helped more me than words can say.

His movements were grace, smooth and light and soft and cold and distant. Every movement he made was always so fluid.

Out in public it was to be expected. With his wife one would expect nothing less- for him to be relaxed, fluid, graceful- but he moved in such a manner everywhere, every place, every setting.

...at his stressful job in the Ministry, the one he took over from his father...during the meetings, with quiet men and a softly speaking Lord to whom they bowed and scraped and feared...when the Aurors came calling, searching his manor, his mother, his wife, his child; inflicting curses both verbal and magical on those he cherished most...even during the raids, with every one of them masked and hidden and unidentifiable even though they always left no survivors, only bodies...

He was always recognizable.

Even when masked.

The way he glided through the crowd of others, he could always- always- tell.

He could find him in a room even before he noticed the silver white of his hair glowing in the light- in any light.

The way his silver eyes glimmered, only ever showing emotion when it would gain him something, something he wanted. He didn't need anything, only ever wanted. Always- always- wanted.

He wondered if those eyes even showed emotion to his wife who had married for love but took comfort in the arms of others, to his aged mother who hadn't lifted one hand in raising him, to the son who wasn't old enough to understand what a gift it would be to have those eyes smiling at him.

His expression was always empty, void of any caring, and not even carefully blank; it was easy, so easy for him to watch, emotionless.

Except sometimes he was sure he saw things. Things that flitted and fluttered deep within his eyes, buried under the blank silver shading. But they were always- always- buried so deep within the mask, and he was never sure.

And he saw the way those hands artfully moved through the air, rarely in motion but for when he was passionately proving he was right. Always, he was right. He would never start an argument that he wasn't sure he would win. He wondered if any other realized how much he calculated because he always- always- noticed.

He liked watching him, this man that sometimes he thought was simply pure eloquence, eloquence which should not exist anywhere except for the written word, the played ballet, the perfect world of imagination.

Sometimes he thought maybe he did just imagine it all.

But the man still moved, still spoke, still calculated, whether he imagined it or not.

So he watched. Always- always- watched. Watched for flaw, watched for failure, watched for anything to break the spell that was cast on him as surely and real as any magic because he could never- never- stop watching. He only ever found things that should not exist, things that should only ever be imagined.

Regulus noticed that too.

He never noticed that he was watched in return. He never saw that his watching was noticed, spotted, found out- always known, always for too long whyhadnthenoticed? he wondered even as silver eyes stared into his own, and he moved gracefully in front of him, and his hand came to settle on his arm, gripping firmly- too tightly- and his mouth opened up to lay out his argument. Always an argument, a contest, a victory of speech.

"You watch me."

He watched him. "I watch you." The words slipped out before he could stop himself, and he noticed a smirk curl at the corner of his lips even as his eyes stayed so coldly empty. "I watch you, Lucius." He repeated, sure that saying the words would make everything shatter, but things only became firmer, more real, more true.

He wanted to add something, to argue, to fight but- he didn't really- nothing came, nothing would, clever words only slipping into his mind hours- days- after they were needed. If anything flickered in those silvery depths, Regulus was sure it was only triumph. Triumph and maybe something else, something he could never fathom, wasn't sure he wanted to fathom, except he did.

"Come with me." The words were firm, commanding, soft- they were always soft- with too much a hint of the highest social standing, too expectant to be obeyed- he always was- and he was ready to rear back, to argue, but as black robes and silver hair walked away, always- always- leading, he knew he couldn't. He never- never- could.


The room was large and airy and light. It was wrong, and right, and wrong, fitting his appearance all too well but not his mind at all.

Fingers slid along his back, lips grazing his neck, soft words whispered in his ear, orders- always orders- and he found his hands obeying before his mind even processed the whispers. Clothes slid off like liquid silk, only ever dressing in the best, one thing he thought they had in common- their clothes, left to be abandoned for the sharp, cool bite of the air and the burn of the most finely woven carpet.

Goose bumps swept across his flesh even as he felt the soft cord slip gently across his body, twining, petting, like a lover's sweet caress, but he was never sweet, and magic cord could not feel. He wasn't sure he could feel, as knots tied themselves firmly and he was held still, bound securely, kneeling in place, hands trapped behind his back.

But then he saw the need shimmering beneath the surface, always- always- predatory, but it was there and his heart beat just a little bit faster.

Slowly Lucius advanced, watching him, and it was always- never- the same as he circled him, paced closer to him. So close, so far away, always it took too long to finally feel-

He breathed in sharply as he felt the tip of ice-cold metal trace gently down his neck, not piercing, not yet. It dragged lightly down past his chest before just the slightest more pressure against his stomach and the pattern had begun. Always a new pattern, new patterns, of red drawn carefully against his skin as light bounced playfully off the moving blade.

Regulus felt the trickle of tiny rivulets sliding down his body, not sure- never sure- if they were little droplets of sweat or the delicate beads of blood. It slid down his belly, his arms, his back, legs, chest until he knew the patterns had to be everywhere, no inch of his body left untouched by the stinging kiss of the blade.

He was sure it wasn't right for him to notice other things as the knife traced across his skin, knew in his mind his entire body should only be concentrated on the steel weapon, but he couldn't keep his mind from anything else as Lucius' fingers followed the patterns he had drawn, as his tongue lapped up the blood across his torso, as he licked and sucked and bit his nipple until it glistened, hard, with sweat and saliva and blood.

Lucius' mouth made its way down with more bites than licks to soothe them, and Regulus could only moan and whisper and beg even though he knew he was never listened to. He sucked and fingers teased, tracing across the pale insides of his thighs, now painted red, and up, slick fingers teasing at his hole, slipping in with a quick movement, even as a hot, wet mouth enveloped his erect member.

Regulus cried out, wanting to thrust forward into that heat even as his body cried to move backward onto those fingers, and he couldn't move without sending them both sprawling to the floor ruining it so he didn't, the way Lucius liked it- entirely in control.

Slowly Lucius moved off him, backing away, a pleased smile sliding across his face even as he licked the blood from his lips. He slipped around, out of view, and a strong arm snaked around his waist, nose nuzzling against his throat as his cock pressed hard and hot and urgent against his entrance.

"Whose are you?" Words whispered in his ear always- always.

"Yours." Regulus moaned need clear in his voice and he felt him smile against his neck.

His body shifted and before Regulus could utter another plea for it to happen now please I needitnow he was thrusting forward, sheathing his length deep within Regulus, and he wasn't sure which of them howled loudest except it couldn't have been Lucius at all- ever- because he never howls.

It was rough, and hard- like it always was- and Regulus couldn't think, couldn't do anything except concentrate on the body that was slamming into him from behind and the large cock that was filling him and depriving him and filling him and again with every thrust.

The softly ordered, "Now." Filtered into his mind and he was coming and so was Lucius, filling him with his seed, and he was sure his mind was exploding. In that one instant he was never sure if he was the one being fucked or the one who was fucking but it didn't matter- it's never mattered.

He slipped away from him and the rope fell loosely away from his body and Lucius was saying something, telling him, leaving him once again-

"Why do you never stay?" He blurted it out. He wished he hadn't, wished he could hide the words away so they could never be spoken, never be heard.

He noticed how he froze for half an instant, and hope fluttered and died in him in the same second.

"Why should I?" He was gone, the door shutting with a quiet snick behind him, and Regulus was sitting on the floor, sure of what to do but wishing he wasn't sure, wishing things had turned out differently.

But he always- always- knew it would come down to this.


He slips to and from his own home like a thief; he is a thief, always has been since he latched onto the words of his mother and father and clung to them. Except he's no longer welcome there, no longer safe there, or anywhere, and he knew they were coming. They would find him. It was only a matter of time.

But he had done it. Done what he had needed to do ever since he learned what life he had cursed himself with. Done what he needed to do even as he pretended to be something he no longer- never- was. Done what he knew he needed to do even as he clung to the hope that maybe he wouldn't have to- maybe silver eyes and silver hair and softly spoken words and grace would save him.

He didn't fight when they found him, haggling for a disguise in a back alley, when they Avada Kedavra'd the wizard he'd been bargaining with, when they threw him to the ground and spilled insults and hexes into the humid night air.

He could always- always- see something flicker behind the mask in his silver eyes.

Lying there, among the muck and the filth they told him he was, as green light left the tip of his wand, Regulus saw what he never- always- wanted to see.

He always- always- knew it would end like this.


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dreaming memories

What you can do with your life has little to do with what's going on in the world and everything to do with what you see as possible.

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