Petals of Desire

[FICLET] Petals of Desire. Voldemort/Lucius, NC17, a bit of blood play

By: Xandria, Copyright © 2003 Xandria (http://www.akasa.bc.ca/fanfic)

Author\'s Notes: Massive thanks to Kashu Arashi for loaning me her Voldemort muse. You can have him back now -- hopefully I haven\'t done any irrevocable harm.

This ficlet is very loosely based on Arashi\'s Voldemort muse and my Lucius muse (aka LuciusX).

I wrote this in one shot. It\'s unbetaed and first draft. I also wrote this while very sick and on cold medication (this should really be in the warnings section, shouldn\'t it?).

I blame this ficlet on an image from a doujinshi I recently purchased, my subsequent LiveJournal Lucius icon ( http://www.livejournal.com/allpics.bml?user=xandria ) and much inspiration from a very pretty drawing by Lucky Kitty/Pluto ( http://www.akasa.bc.ca/xandria/HP/xanlucius.jpg ). Thank you, Pluto.

And finally, this is my first \"first person\" ficlet in the HP fandom. My apologies to those who don\'t like such things, but I don\'t think I could convey Voldemort\'s head space as well otherwise.

Disclaimer: All obvious HP characters and concepts are property of their respective owners. No infringement is intended.

Rated: NC17

Warnings: A little bit of blood play.

Summary: A bit of mental rumination on how Voldemort sees his relationship with Lucius -- their wants and needs. Oh, and some fucking on a piano in the Malfoy conservatory amidst rose petals.

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Petals of Desire

Nearly three bottles... three bottles of champagne to reduce you to this glorious writhing stretch of supple flesh upon your grand piano. The contrast of the instrument\'s pitch lacquer against your pure white skin... so lovely, so breathtaking... made perfect with the addition of rose petals. Red, black and white slivers of silk kiss your skin where my mouth longs to fasten itself... licking, sucking, biting and eventually breaking that flawless flesh to taste you, drink you, and take you deep inside of me. Your pureblood essence, steeped in incest, brewed in aristocracy, calls to me and demands my twisted attentions. You were bred from and for perversion and yet they call me perverse for what I have become. I must laugh at the irony for if I do not, I will weep and no one should see a Dark Lord shed tears -- although you might be surprised to know that I have shed them in the past. But they don\'t really know you, do they, pretty one? No, they don\'t see what I see. You instil fear, worship and blindness -- for to look too deeply into your soul and into your mind can drive one insane. But I am already mad... or so they say... and am consequently immune.

I flicker my serpent like tongue out of my mouth, tasting your aura, tasting your ravenous need. Such rapacious and libidinous thoughts you have, my pretty one. You could consume the entire world if given enough time, couldn\'t you? Reaping, moulding, breaking and claiming only the best for yourself. But you dismissed me. You turned away from me at first, only seeing tainted blood... impure and unworthy for consideration. But I made myself difficult to ignore, didn\'t I? I played your game and endeared you to me until now it is I who has you. Literally. In my hand your swollen cock glides against my cool palm as your hips rise up hungrily, wanting more, always more.

They are correct. You are without a doubt... perfect. I\'ve observed you work, your mind tick endlessly, and your actions so deliberate yet so fluid. It\'s a wonder you were born at all. I sometimes think you must have been sent. Sent for me and my devices. But you don\'t know this yet, do you, my pretty one? No. I suspect not. But that is all right. There\'s time enough for revelations.

Oh, Merlin, the way your breath hitches like a final gasp in your throat, your words on the tip of your dry tongue demanding a tighter grip around your needy cock but do not spill forward. I decide not to tease you. Not for the moment. But perhaps another day. Instead, sensing your need, I curl my skeletal fingers tighter and stroke yore fre firmly a few more times. I breathe in deeply, my albino flesh tightening around my skinny chest. I take in the heady air between us. Jasmine. I can smell you clearly as your upper torso rises off the piano in appreciation and want. Always wanting more. When is enough sufficient, my pretty one? When will you truly be sated? That\'s the secret I know that eludes everyone who crosses paths with you. The secret that you won\'t disclose on pain of death. But that\'s what it will take, will it not? Your death. Hmmmn, perhaps some day, but not today. No, today I give you a petit mort.

As my hand moves away, you immediately stop the whine that begins to form in the back of your throat. How impressive your control is, but I already knew that. You never do anything you really do not wish to. And as your silvery eyes slit open, damp with absolute desire, I can see that you really want to scream at me: \"Put your hand back on my cock, ...!\" You are always at a loss for what to call me, and I find this amusing. You once intentionally called me Tom and outa mia minute amount of respect I managed to garner, you eventually ceased calling me by my repulsive birth name. You grudgingly use my title. I can hear it in your voice... my real name does not roll off your tongue naturally and when you do speak the words, a sense of distaste pervades... a slight mockery lingers on the air and wrinkles your slender nose. You forget that my sense of taste is superior to anyone else\'s. I know you know this, but you prefer to see me as... merely human, one breath away from a Muggle. The thought separates us, in your mind, allowing you to maintain the distance you so desperately crave. But how far apart are we now, pretty one?

You spread your legs so easily for me, even tilting your pelvis to accommodate the damask cushion from the piano bench. I breathe deeply once more. Roses. The scent of roses is now upon me, as is your lust, glued to you like the petals against your sweat soaked chest and neck. Dozens of petals, lost in your long blond hair, seen by me for once in a dishevelled state. You\'ve never let me see you so undone... in every sense of the word. I pray you let me see you like this again. If you only knew how much more beautiful you were like this -- imperfect. Or perhaps you do. This is all a game to you, isn\'t it? You liken your entire life to a chess game. You are always so many steps ahead, with so many contingency plans just in case something doesn\'t work out, or in case someone disappoints you yet again. For all I know, you have already foreseen this. Have you?

Did you foresee that I would slam my lubricated cock inside your ass and watch you scream in ecstasy? Did you know that I would maku mou moan so loud and rise almost entirely off the piano with each solid snap from my hips? Did you know that I could pleasure you just as well, if not more, than your favourite lovers? I wager you didn\'t.

You do not see my smile of triumph as you open yourself up to me even more. You want me so deep, so far inside of you, that we could almost be one. It\'s what you want, isn\'t it? You want what I have, and what I have become. You want my immortal soul, don\'t you, my pretty one? And admittedly, you are deserving. You are not Slytherin, no, you are Malfoy -- a lineage more subtle and more terrible. Woe to the world of both Wizards and Muggles should you secure such power as I have. They think I am mad, that my machinations are perverse and corrupt. No, once again, they do not see the true viper nesting in the grass, do they? They do not see your propensity to destroy and reshape so dramatically that the gods would clear the sky for you and welcome you alongside them. And there lies the key, for you have what I want as well. Your calculated restraint is so evident, yet I can see a sliver form, just as I can see your splayed hand twitch against the slick black mirrored surface, edging closer to your hip, wanting so destelytely to stroke yourself off to completion. But I am a merciful immortal, my pretty one. We can work together. You just need to trme. me.

As you thrust your ass against me, fucking yourself on me even harder than I could imagine, I snake my albino arm up across your flesh, sliding silken petals along your skin. Your eyes fly open as I close my fist around your pretty, strained and hungry cock. I watch as your mouth sets firmly into a straight line, as you realize I am not yet moving my fist. You stop fucking. You almost stop breathing. And you nearly begin screaming. But still you will not plead. You would sooner die. Such actions are beneath you, I know. I wonder what it would take to break you. Instead, you catch your breath which only hitches once more as I rub my thumb over your slippery glans. You moan. You find purchase against the piano lid and resume fucking yourself on me. Finally, I fuck you in return. And then I watch your eyes roll into the back of your skull again. Yout yot your lovely pale neck up in supplication. I almost consider bending you over double, and snapping your spine so so I can latch my mouth onto the luscious curve of your throat and suck so hard that I pull every drop of your pure blood into myself. I almost think you would approve.

As the piano begins to moan with you, I am certain we will bring the antique down around us if we couple much longer. So with my other hand, I drape one of your legs over my shoulder and tilt my mouth to your lean inner thigh. Against the main artery I can feel your heart pounding in the same rhythm as our hips. I squeeze you harder, so hard, that almost anyone else would scream in agony. But you do not. You scream in masochistic bliss. I can feel the petals dissolve beneath my fingers and I know that every whore whose mouth you fuck for the next two weeks will taste roses. That will be my doing. My gift to you and them, for I am not unkind.

My scream joins yours, although mine is muffled against your hardened muscle. I feel you spasm in my palm and I wonder if you can feel my cold seed enter you forcefully. I bite you hard, tasting pure blood and I think we climax again... or are we still climaxing? The experience bleeds together, blended by mutual desire and passion. You want what I have and I want what you have. And right now, we almost have each other completely. Tell me, pretty one, is your blood always this rich? When you taste yourself as you do now, your lip bit into as I ripped a second orgasm from your body, do you compare all others against yourself? I already know the answer... too easy... I know that you do. You are the yardstick against which all others are measured and you are desperate to find someone who can even come close.

Well, I have now, haven\'t I, pretty one? You never dreamed that you could take joy in our union -- that you could cry out in absolute pleasure, bite your own lip and leak tears down your cheek at my hand. I showed you Nirvana. Now it\'s time you reciprocate. You\'ve let me into your body, now let me into your mind...

And I will give you true Nirvana... I will give you immortality.

~fin~