Inner Veela, by Seeker. Rated NC17, no copyright infringement
intended. From an idea by Selene la Luna
for the HarryxLucius FQF.
It was
absolutely ridiculous.
It
couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
Lucius
Malfoy stared through the eye-holes of his terrifying white mask at the swirl
of Aurors and Death Eaters engaged in bloody battle, and wondered why this sort
of thing always happened to him. Even
when he was a child, it was always the inappropriate urge at the wrong time in
the wrong place with the predictable results.
Bollixed-up
plans. Sudden left turns in the
supposedly smooth course of his life. A
rock at his toe to send him flat on his nose.
A riptide in the bath tub.
Well, there was nothing for it but to do it.
One couldn’t fight one’s nature, after all. If one did, one ended up raving mad, frothing
at the mouth, with a permanent erection, strapped to a cot in the lower reaches
of the psychiatric isolation ward for Unusual Magical Species at St. Mungo’s.
At
least, one did, if one were Lucius Malfoy.
Who had
to deal with his inner Veela.
In heat.
Fixated
on a bloody werewolf.
Who was about to get avada-kedavra-ed by Voldemort in a heroic if incredibly
stupid attempt to protect Harry Potter.
How drearily Gryffindorish.
Lucius
sighed. Punched McNair in the head to
get him out of the way, and leveled his wand.
Baby Potter had shown the standard ways of offing wizards didn’t work
with his Lordship, so Lucius went with the older, tried and true way.
“Decido
cedere!” he screamed, Veela-lung-power ensuring that his voice carried over all
the chaos of battle. For an instant,
everyone froze.
Then
Voldemort, an exquisite expression of astonishment on his face, imploded in an
untidy heap of black draperies and gray dust, an instant before he could kill
Lucius’ chosen mate.
Death Eaters
stood frozen, looking at the pile of dirty clothes that had until a moment
before been their Ruler. Aurors stood
with their wands drooping, staring at the man who had a moment ago been their
enemy, before turning the enemy leader into a pile of dirty clothes.
“We
surrender,” Lucius proclaimed calmly.
Potter
shook his head, muttered, “About fucking time,” turned on his heel and marched
off the field. The rest of the crowd
milled about in confusion. Lucius
ignored all of them, pausing only to stupefy one idiot Auror who had the gall
to try to apprehend him, and stalked up to Remus Lupin.
“I don’t
like this any better than you do,” Lucius stated.
Remus
looked at him as if he’d lost his mind (much the same way everyone else on the
field of battle was looking at him).
Lucius sighed again, clamped one hand round the back of Remus’ neck, and
hauled him in for a deep, long, wet, very thorough kiss.
His
inner Veela cheered.
His
inner paranoiac, that had kept him alive for years playing the Dark side of the
pitch, sent up a warning flare. Not bothering to look around to see who was
trying to kill him now, since it could be anyone from Sirius Black to Peter
Pettigrew (and wasn’t that a pair? his internal commentary with comedic
delusions snarked), Lucius broke the kiss long enough to gasp for breath and
whisper, “Amplexus Manor centrus.”
With his
peripheral vision he saw a plethora of hexes, curses and binding spells heading
their way. The thought of the mess
they’d make when they collided had him laughing as he and his chosen one
(damned instincts, anyway!) apparated into the middle of his bedroom.
He was
still laughing when a blow caught him on the jaw and sent him sprawling flat on
his arse. His tongue flickered out to
taste the blood on his lip where he’d bitten himself, as he gazed, wide-eyed,
up at a wild-eyed, fist-clenched, utterly ravishing if rather discombobulated
Remus Lupin.
His
inner Veela stopped cheering and started drooling.
Lucius
was in motion before he could give it a thought. He shot to his feet, clamped his hands around
Remus’ shoulders, and pulled him into an unbreakable embrace.
Remus
broke it, shoving Lucius hard enough to send him back on his arse in the middle
of the floor.
Oh. Right.
Werewolf. Enhanced strength. Pissed off and confused werewolf. Highly enhanced strength.
Lucius’
inner Veela gave a battle cry and surfaced.
Remus
blanched.
Lucius
didn’t care. His driving motivations
were to claim and to mate. Besides, he was
horny, not angry, so he didn’t resemble a giant Red Kite with an attitude problem. No, he reverted to the original form of the
Veela.*
It would
seem that Remus had never before been accosted by a tall, slender, incredibly
beautiful, amorous, pure white magical being with flashing eyes and out flung
arms. Or perhaps he thought he was going
to die; if Remus remembered his lessons in Magical Creatures, such a
misconception was a distinct possibility.
Not that he was about to die.
Well,
only a little death.
Lucius
laughed, the sound echoing like waves crashing on a beach. Remus paled further, if possible. Not wanting to scare his chosen (even if
Lucius hadn’t actually had a choice in the matter) all the way to death before
he had the chance to get the man naked, Lucius stopped laughing, sped up, and
pushed Remus up against the wall.
Right next to the bed.
Perfect.
Wrapping
both arms tightly around Remus so he couldn’t escape, Lucius attacked his mouth
again, delving in deeply enough to rob them both of breath. Remus struggled, quite an exciting
development, really, since his werewolf strength allowed him to actually move
in the embrace of an aroused Veela. Had
he been a normal wizard he’d’ve been crushed to paste by then.
Perhaps
instinct knew what it was doing, after all.
Exulting
in allowing himself the full range of his gifts, Lucius surrendered to his
inner flaming fairy --er, Veela--, and tipped his chosen wolf right over
sideways onto the nice firm bed with the nice satin sheets.
With
enough force to send them both sliding right across the top of the nice firm
mattress to land on the opposite side of the nice big bed, tangled in the nice
satin top sheet.
Remus
was gasping for breath by now, but Lucius wasn’t certain if it was the crushing
embrace, the wild slide, or a vain attempt to stop laughing hard enough to
break a rib. It certainly wasn’t
arousal, as even through the robe, trousers, shirt hem, and undershorts, he could
feel Remus’ prick, and it wasn’t the least bit hard.
Not the
way Lucius had expected claiming his mate to go. He huffed.
Kissed Remus again. Muttered some
choice Latin under his breath, and when he was finished cursing, muttered the
spell to get them both naked.
That got
a reaction, though not quite what Lucius hoped.
Remus squeaked, then growled, squirming deliciously against him. Oh, yes, the growl was a promising sign!
“WHAT
THE BLOODY FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” Remus then screamed directly into Lucius’
delicately pointed ear.
It was
enough to momentarily deafen him, and the Outer Veela shrieked, retreating in
disarray at the vehemently negative response from his
Fortuitously,
this allowed the Inner Wizard to come back to the fore, because if there was
one thing Lucius Malfoy knew how to do, it was seduce a lover. Taking advantage of Remus’ momentary
paralysis, a combination of utter shock, helpless laughter, and complete
denial, Lucius kissed him.
From the
head of his prick all the way down to his balls.
With one
lick.
Remus
squeaked again.
Taking
this as a positive sign, Lucius upped the ante.
He insinuated his hands between Remus’ thighs and began to massage his
arse. Top to bottom, outside to inside,
all the way in. At the same time he
began to swallow rhythmically as he slid the lovely long fat prick down his
throat, then up until the crown barely broke his lips, lapping along the head
until it finally began to leak, then dipping all the way back down again.
Remus
was growling, again. As compulsively as
his hands clutched at Lucius’ hair and his groin rocked between Lucius’ hands
and face. It was reassuring, not that
Lucius would admit to any minor, temporary crisis of confidence.
It was
simply that few people ever saw the true face of the Veela, and the few that
did always ran away. Always. Even other Veela ran, which was why there
were so many half-Veela running around and so few pure Veela left in
existence. So the fact that Remus was
humping instead of running was very encouraging.
The scream he gave when he came was even more encouraging. Positively empowering. Damned exciting.
Lucius
drew back, licking the last dribbles away as he did, leaving a clean, shiny,
exhausted prick to flop against Remus’ thigh.
He kept his fingers buried in Remus’ arse, though. In part because he really, really wanted to
fuck Remus, and in part because when Remus came he’d clamped down so hard it
was a wonder he hadn’t pinched Lucius’ fingers right off, and the pressure
hadn’t relaxed any in the afterglow.
This
could be a problem.
Reaching
up with his free hand, Lucius unwound Remus’ fists from his hair, wincing at
the state of his usually immaculate coiffure.
He’d have to tend to that later, with at least a long hot oil treatment
(possibly one of the new Lockhart's Glorious Locks treatments, he'd been dying
to try one anyway), or he’d have frizzy ends, and he hated frizzy ends. A nudge against his belly derailed his train
of thought.
Perhaps
there was a reason for the vise in which his fingers were trapped. From the look of the newly-arisen erection
bouncing against him, the wolf had stamina as well as strength. Lucius’ inner Veela came out of hiding long
enough to whimper happily, then Lucius found himself flat on his back, fingers
still caught up Remus’ fundament, legs flung over Remus’ shoulders.
The
awkward position pulled Lucius’ torso back, trapping his arm behind him beneath
their bodies, making it impossible to move.
He considered muttering a spell to untangle them, but before he could
remember the correct verb tense Remus gave a noise that could only be called a
yelp and plunged his prick all the way up Lucius’ arse.
Lucius’
unstretched, seldom-plumbed,
hadn’t-been-fucked-in-so-long-it-was-practically-virgin arse.
It wasn’t
a yelp Lucius gave. More a
blood-curdling scream.
Perhaps
licking Remus' prick so thoroughly clean had been a mistake. Lucius would have appreciated a little
lubrication prior to impalement.
His free
hand grabbed the back of Remus’ head by the thick shaggy hair and held on for
dear life. His trapped hand was pulled
and pushed, forearm rubbing the back of his balls as it was wrenched along for
the ride. His spine twisted and jolted,
his head banged against the floor, his hip joints felt like they were
permanently sprung, and the heft of the prick that had seemed decently sized
but not overpowering going down his throat felt like a bloody barge as it
reamed him from his arsehole clear up to his heart.
Undignified,
awkward, messy and contorted as it was, it was still the best fucking he’d ever
gotten in his life.
Remus
had both hands on Lucius’ arse cheeks, spreading them as far as he could,
pumping into him as hard and as deep as he could go. With every thrust, Lucius groaned. His prick rubbed against the wiry fur on
Remus’ belly, and every time Remus rammed into him, a spurt of come bubbled out
the end of Lucius' prick. Staring
blindly up at the ceiling as Remus rocked into him, Lucius tried to remember how
to breathe, only to forget instantly when Remus latched onto a nipple with his
teeth and started to chew.
It was
incredible. It was too much. Pained pleasure at his arse, pleasurable pain
at his chest, not enough pressure at his prick, and he couldn’t do a bloody
thing about any of it. Lucius had never
realized how much fun it was to be powerless.
Then
again, since he’d never allowed himself to be rendered powerless except around
Voldemort, which couldn't be classified as fun under any circumstances, his
ignorance was to be expected.
“Pull
it,” Remus grunted in his ear, confusing Lucius, who was still a few steps
behind in the proceedings, thinking Remus was still biting his nipple. Lucius stared uncomprehendingly at him.
“Hhm?”
he murmured. Remus bared his teeth in a
feral smile.
“Your
prick. Pull it. Come for me.”
The
words alone nearly did the trick. Lucius
swallowed hard, then yanked his hand out of Remus’ hair and pushed it between
their bodies. The changed angle put more
pressure on the hand still buried in Remus’ arse, and weirdly enough the
additional strain brought Lucius even closer to orgasm. Wrapping his fingers around his prick, he
stroked once, hard, as Remus pumped into him and held his position.
God. Arse stuffed full of hard cock so far up him
he could feel it in his throat, hands clamped by Remus’ hole and slimy with his
own spunk, chest still on fire from the ghost of sharp teeth, bones balanced
between twisted completely out of position and melted into mush ... it was
really no wonder Lucius came hard enough to black out.
An
indeterminate time later, his inner Veela still satiated to the point of
unconsciousness, Lucius opened his eyes.
Found himself staring directly into gold-flecked amber eyes staring
right back at him.
Got
hard. Instantly.
The somber,
searching expression disappeared as Remus grinned at him. Showing teeth.
Lucius
got harder.
“So,”
Remus purred, an odd thing for a wolf to do but also oddly compelling, “is this
how you treat all your enemies? Or am I
special?”
In
response, Lucius humped up into Remus’ warm groin, and made the serendipitous
discovery that he wasn’t the only one in the bed with an erection. He grinned back, showing his own teeth. Remus' erection jerked against his.
They
were so well-matched.
“Very
special,” Lucius purred right back. Looping his arms around Remus’ neck, Lucius
spread his legs, wrapped them around Remus’ hips and pulled him down until they
could rub those erections against one another.
Hard enough to cause spontaneous combustion. “Unique, in fact. And all mine.”
Remus
said something that sounded vaguely like, “Is that so?” but Lucius was too busy
coming to care. They’d sort out the
details later.
Right at
the moment, he had an awakening inner Veela to deal with, and he knew just the
wolf to do it.
END
*