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TomCats	By : pittwitch Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Lucius/Hermione Views: 5929 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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 List
- 1-TomCats - Beta Version
- 2-Straight Tequila Night
- 1
- 2
TomCats

Warnings: This is my response to a personal challenge issued by a Wench with the following requirements:
First person present tense from Lucius� POV, Lucius/Hermione as the main pairing, AU � well, more like totally WARPED World, Hermione at her Bachelorette party, One-shot and one week to complete. Feel free to �grade� my work.
Date of issue: 01/07/08 8:19 p.m. Date of completion: 01/10/08 4:57 p.m.
Beta�d by the challenger.

Thanks to everyone for the lovely �grades.� I truly mean for this to be a one-shot for me, but, agree that there could definitely be more story, more story which I�ll leave to your own delightful imaginations � thanks again, Pitt.

My fingertips brush the brass rail as I stroll into my new domain. Bellatrix sits, as usual, at the end of the bar, her long black-polished nails tapping maniacally against the lacquered wood finish.
�Good evening, sir.� She smiles up at me with barely a glint. She�s improving.
�Good evening, Bellatrix.� I hear my voice. I hear the words. I do not think about them.
�We have a hen night party reservation for tonight,� the witch informs me, not looking up from her bookwork.
�Ah, anyone interesting?�
�The Granger witch.� Bellatrix tries to hide her smile. She fails; a small setback then.
�Most interesting.� I stop to ponder. �Put our best waiter on their table.�
�Yes, sir!� She winks at me. Impudent. �Anything else I should know?�
�No, sir, all is well, and the TomCats are straggling in.�
The witch resumes her maniacal tapping on the bar surface. I ease past her to my office. Brandy would be perfect. Safely resting my cane against the table, I pull each finger of my gloves free, relishing the delicious slide of butter-soft leather against my skin. With studied care, I lay them on the table and proceed to free each gleaming silver clasp on my robe. Pouring a generous amount, I settle behind the overly large mahogany desk to peruse the daily mail. As the clock chimes, I finish my drink and prepare for work.
I take my time dressing, or should I say, undressing, for the evening. I revel in donning the supple leather mask that hides my notorious features. Ah, anonymity. My fingers automatically toy with the leather collar and its large emerald bob. Even my trademark hair is tightly braided and woven in upon itself at the nape of my neck, barely visible under the hooded mask. I shall enjoy the show tonight immensely. At least, I expect to enjoy the show immensely. I slip out of my office, creaking leather and all, and slither behind the bar. The regular bartender glances at me in surprise. Impudent, I snort. He nods and moves to the far end to finish stacking the sparkling glasses. The lights go down automatically, and the front doors open. The patrons begin to filter in. Finally, the lady of the evening and her entourage grace us with their presence. My playful little door kitten escorts them to the reserved table at center stage. The hens cackle and select chairs, leaving the blushing bride to perch dead center in front of the apron. I smile, secretly pleased.
One eyebrow rises, unbidden, when the same bride-to-be excuses herself and approaches the bar, and me. She leans up, surely having to stand on her toes on the lower rail to clear the top of the bar with her plump breasts, signaling me to come closer. She palms a handful of galleons, sliding them across the wood to where my hand rests.
�I�m getting married tomorrow.� She giggles, then continues. �My friends all think I should be getting quite drunk tonight, but I don�t really want to do that. Do you think you could help with the �mixing� of my drinks?� She smiles up at me shyly. I grace her with my wide, toothy grin, the same wide toothy grin my ex-wife all too soon learned to fear. I nod, surreptitiously sliding the golden coins into my hand. She graces me with a relieved and innocent smile. I wink, and turn back to the task at hand. She makes her way back to the seat of honor. With a quick motion, I beckon the other bartender. He steps quickly and obediently to my side. I give him the coins along with the command, �I will mix all drinks for the hen party tonight.� He nods in understanding, and slips the galleons into his own tip container.
The serving cat brings their orders to me. He grins toothily at me. �The bride will be having Sex on the Beach.� He winks at me. Impudence everywhere. I must schedule a staff meeting to address this issue. But, for now, I nod and begin to fill the rather tall order, paying special attention to the bride�s request. With great care, I slip a notice me not charm on the liquor going into her glass. She won�t taste the alcohol now. My lip curls in sheer delight, involuntarily, of course.
The lights dim further as I begin the third round for the hens. Rodolphus brings the stage lights up, and the music begins to thump. Bellatrix, resplendent in her black leather lion tamer�s get up, takes center stage, allowing the tail of her whip to drag behind her.
�Good Evening, Ladies!� She smiles into the audience. �And welcome to The Marvolous Ladies� Lounge featuring the TomCats!�
A deafening roar of approval thunders through the lounge as the opening dancers take the stage in their feline forms. Mmmm, that Zabini boy makes a beautiful leopard, those golden spots against the dark chocolate of his gleaming skin. The dancers time their movements perfectly, near naked men now moving sinuously in time with the throbbing rhythm of the music so carefully selected by Rodolphus. I grace him with my tight-lipped smile. He nods in acknowledgment. The dancers tantalize, titillate and tease the randy women all holding up their golden galleons; all the women except the little Mudblood, � interesting. One of the birds begins the chant, �Full Monty, Full Monty.� I allow myself a small chuckle. Not here, ladies, not for that pittance you parted with at the door.
Bellatrix croons over the fading music at long last, �Ladies, I introduce for your enjoyment this evening: our featured performer, the Prince of Purr, pantheon of pleasure, the TomCats� very own, Paenthaeres!� She exits stage left with a threatening crack of the leather. The gleaming ebony panther strolls on from stage right. His black eyes glitter in the low light. His whiskers twitch as he scents the air. The ominous music plays, his soft padding footfalls matching the rhythm. The big cat prowls the back edge of the stage, studying the crowd as his muscles slip gracefully under that luxuriant fur. Returning to weave and pace at center stage, the big cat patiently waits for just the right moment of crescendo in the music, leaping straight for our guest of honor. He affects a midair transformation into his black leather g-string, black collar, protective mask, replete with ears and charmed tail, landing neatly on his feet, gyrating his rather large crotch directly in the dear bride�s face. The tipsy little witch titters. Great Merlin, she is actually blushing. The other cackling hens press galleons into her hands, urging her to encourage the dancer. She smiles, slipping one of the galleons into the cleft between her breasts, beckoning my employee with one coy crooked finger. I am impressed. The dancer performs for her alone now, the catcalls, whistling, and general rowdiness of the crowd serve to encourage his boldness. The ebony-clad man purrs as his tail flicks dangerously before curling tantalizingly around her bare ankle. One hand tilts her chin up to peer deep into all-too familiar inky depths. The other long fingered appendage dips into the swell between her breasts to garner his reward.
I watch as awareness washes over the oddly alluring little Mudblood�s face, still safely hidden behind my new mask; it and the gleaming oak bar protecting me from recognition � yet. I swiftly abandon my post behind the bar, transfiguring my costume as I sprint backstage. Bellatrix and Rodolphus, in their time-honed synchronization, both spot me at the same time, and the music changes as Bellatrix sidles back onto the stage. As I assume my Animagus form, she begins to laugh that high-pitched maniacal laugh that so amused our former Master � so much for progress. The audience gasps in awe and a tinge of fear as I assume the stage as the rare albino tiger, white leather collar weighted by the same large emerald.
�Ladies, as rare as a true albino cat, we are graced with the presence of Tigris, never seen before in a solo performance.� Bellatrix wraps the tail of her whip around her arm, toying with the leather as she eyes me with a feral gleam.
I snarl and swat at her for effect, baring my claws, but not making true contact. The black-haired dancer shifts immediately back to feline form, snarling and baring his teeth in a show of aggression. Regally, I toss my head, and swat at him with only one much larger paw. Still snarling, he yields the stage, albeit unwillingly. I will my body to regain human form in order to dance, focusing on the lovely little witch at center stage, sensing the ignition deep inside her soul. She eyes me hungrily, from the top of the white leather hood, down my chest, drinking in the glimmering silver stripes painted there, resting on the white leather encased packaged between my legs. Her pupils dilate as I undulate closer. Her breathing becomes shallow and quick. I watch in detached amusement as her focus telescopes on my burgeoning interest. The song ends all too quickly. I bow, glancing down to watch the stage lights sparkle on the silver serpent studs that hold my g-string together before looking up and straight into Granger�s smoldering chocolate brown eyes. I grace her with my wide toothy grin that most see as harmless.
Backstage, Snape lounges, still in costume, drink in hand. He glowers at me, upper lip curled distastefully.
�I think she recognized me,� he snarled.
�You know what to do.�
I walk haughtily past him into the more private area of the lounge and recline full length on the black leather couch to watch him. Grumbling under his breath, he rises, slinking down the hall to his treasured shadowy alcove to wait.
Neither of us waits very long as a rather unsteady-gaited Granger makes her way down the hall for the ladies� facilities. Snape pounces, securing her with a strong arm around her shoulders, holding her facing away from him.
�Obliviate,� he hisses. I smile. He slips away with a nod in my direction, leaving a befuddled witch standing in front of the door to the loo.
Languidly, I rise, attracting her attention. As I ooze to her side, I make sure to pitch my voice quite low.
�May I help you?� I reach out to trace a soft curl with one finger, touching, but yet not quite touching, with a feigned gentleness.
�Um, yes, I seem to have forgotten why I came back here,� the poor little bird warbles.
�Perhaps you were looking for me?� I offer, moving just a small amount closer. I hear her breath catch in her throat. She averts her eyes, to my crotch, then swiftly returns her gaze to my eyes, obviously uncertain exactly where to look. I move in closer, allowing her to feel the heat from my overworked body.
�You can touch � if you like,� I offer the tantalizing taboo, my eyes riveted to hers, my fingers now feathering along her jaw line.
�Oh my, I � um, oh, well, I don�t �� I silence her babbling with a firm hand on the small of her back, pressing her against my hard body insistently.
�One last night as a single woman,� I croon into her ear, fingers snaking into her curling tendrils. �One last night to sample the forbidden ��
She leans into me now, her body acquiescing before her so-called formidable mind. She sighs, her breasts moving against me with the motion. I cradle her chin with my hand, and cock my head to claim her lips with as much gentleness as I can muster. Leisurely, I increase the intensity of our co-mingling, skimming the tip of my tongue against the heated silk of her lips. One pass, a tiny nibble, two passes and a nuzzle, then she parts those lips for me, yielding, succumbing, pressing for more. I steer her further into the lounge, away from prying eyes, nearly dancing her back into the most private of lounges that only I and Severus are permitted to enter. Her tiny little fingers float over my body, trying to smear the un-smearable body paint. Chuckling, I guide her hands lower, first to the relative safety of my hips. I pluck at the cute little bow tying the top of her peasant blouse closed. The soft cotton parts like the Red Sea in front of Moses, and I descend on her unfettered breasts like a starving man at a feast.
Within minutes, she is pleading for redemption. I nudge her closer to the specially designed table, relentless until we bump up against it. I pull away for a brief moment, turning her around, then pushing her down over the padded leather top. Her little gasps and moans hearten me further. I run my hands over her back, pushing the blouse away. I pull insistently at the stretchy skirt thing and it pools on the floor at her feet. Her nicely padded white buttocks are thrust up, but she is not at my height. With a touch of my hand, the table responds, lowering her head, and raising her backside until her toes are barely touching the carpet. She squeals. I lean over her, trapping her body under mine, guiding her hands forward to reach over the edge for the ever convenient hand-holds.
�Nice,� she growls in pleasure, tilting her head to peer back at me with lust-darkened eyes.
�Nicer,� I counter, voice deepened in growing lust. I dispense with my favorite G-string, letting it fall to the floor as well. She smiles at me in definite approval.
�Nicest.�
Of course, I let her have the last word before I spread her thighs wide and slide inside her dewy heat. Once fully seated, I use my greater height and strength to close her legs under me, angling for the pressure at the front of her womb, increasing the restriction around my member at the same time. I have to struggle to maintain a cool distance and not allow my eyes to roll back in my own head. Really, nearly losing control over a Mudblood is simply not acceptable.
I lock my large hands over hers for leverage, and begin to slide and glide, in and out; angling my balls to bump into her nicely exposed clit. The wanton little hussy is moaning non-stop under me now.
�More �� she pants. �Harder.�
Oh, harder? That request I am more than willing to honor. I release all inhibition and proceed to slam the witch with every ounce of my strength. Instead of crying out for mercy as I expected, she actually cries for more, using the handholds to press back with nearly as much force as I shove forward. I hope she has access to bruise salve; my hips will leave marks after this. Within minutes, we both tense. A satisfied yowl escapes the witch; a yowl to match my guttural roar of release.
Quickly, I slide off of her, and the table returns to normal. Hastily, she scoops her clothes back on, flushed, and sweaty, but most clearly satiated.
�Thank you,� she whispers breathily as she reties her strings.
�Thank you. And congratulations on your nuptials,� I purr contentedly.
She rummages in her pockets, blushing even more deeply.
�I�m afraid I left my handbag at the table,� she apologizes with shame now tinting her face.
Still naked, I press against her once again, kissing her lightly. �Consider this a gift for the new couple.�
Her eyes widened in the realization of what she has actually done. She turns tail and runs from the room without a backward glance. Sniggering, I pick up my discarded g-string, returning myself to my barkeep�s uniform, tucking the scrap of leather into my pocket.
~*~
The sun beams joyfully down on the myriad people gathered in my gardens. I take my seat with as much nobility as I can muster under these conditions. I try not to peer disdainfully at the bride�s side of the congregated masses, instead studying the stone altar intently, then, my own fingers folded patiently over the silver head of my cane. The music changes. My insipid ex-wife floats down the aisle way, next to the dark haired woman. My eyes can�t stray as she lifts the slim taper to light the silver and green twisted candle on the side of the altar closest to me. She turns and locks her gaze on me in an obvious challenge. �I�m the most important parent now,� she seems to scream at me even through her vapid smile.
As the happy couple embrace, I can�t help but wonder what my lovely little daughter-in-law�s reaction will be to my son�s new white leather g-string; the one with the tiny silver serpent-shaped studs. A true smile overcomes me as I listen to the prophetic words of the soloist. Oh, yes indeed, we have only just begun �

Fin.
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TomCats