"Manipulation," for fairielore

[rarepairs_mod]

Author: ???
Recipient: fairielore
Title: Manipulation
Pairing: Voldemort/Lucius
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,702
Summary: 'It was his eyes, so fascinating with their dark grey tones that reminded Voldemort of brewing storm clouds, and those lips that quivered in fear as they spoke, “My Lord,” in a quiet frightened tone.' Lucius reacts so beautifully to Voldemort's advances and he just can't resist his favourite Death Eater.
Warnings: Non-con (I guess you could view it as this as Lucius isn't exactly willing) and emotional blackmail.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to me and I make no profit in writing this story.
Author's Notes: Wow. This was experience. It was my first time writing this pairing and this sort of ficlet. I do hope I did it justice and that you enjoy it.
 

 
Voldemort observed him like a snake would observe its prey. He scrutinized his stiff posture when he interacted with Bellatrix, and he watched him tersely smile while he discussed issues with Nott. There wasn’t much change in his face as he moved from one person to another; all received the same reaction from Lucius Malfoy.
 
Three people were respected enough to earn themselves a look at a different side of Lucius. Narcissa, the wife who had betrayed her master by claiming Harry Potter was dead when he was not – she received her punishment for that, three days filled with the Cruciatus curse. Then there was his son, a coward who had been too frightened to kill Dumbledore (he was considered an even bigger coward when he couldn’t bring himself to kill Harry Potter either). And lastly there was his Lord, Voldemort.
 
Lucius had failed Voldemort on more than one occasion as well – being a failure must run in the Malfoy blood – but he was willing to forgive him. Voldemort considered himself a respectable man and a good master, it was not his fault that some, like Potter and Weasley, couldn’t see that and instead chose to spit at his feet rather than kiss them.
 
Lucius was a prized Death Eater and it wasn’t because of his skills in duelling and manipulation. It was his eyes, so fascinating with their dark grey tones that reminded Voldemort of brewing storm clouds, and those lips that quivered in fear as they spoke, “My Lord,” in a quiet frightened tone. It sent shivers down Voldemort's spine and made him smile in glee. Of course, Lucius always flinched away from the smile like he was a crup about to be kicked for his insolent behaviour, but that was how Voldemort liked it.
 
What he didn't like was the way Lucius smiled at his wife when he thought no one was looking. The corners of his lips would upturn, the dimples in his cheeks would deepen and his eyes would light up, reminding Voldemort no longer of the grey storm clouds. He was too happy, too aware of something good in his life, something that had nothing to do with being in the service of Lord Voldemort, winner of the war and ruler of Great Britain.
 
"What do you think, Potter? Shall we remind Lucius who he belongs to?" Voldemort grinned as he reached out to run a hand over Potter's mattered hair as he kneeled beside him, magical cuffs tight around his hands that were bent behind his back. Potter glared, but averted his eyes, aware of the punishment he'd receive for such a negative response.
 
It was answer enough for Voldemort. He bent his finger towards Lucius when he looked up, signalling the Death Eater to come to him. Lucius's eyes dulled once more and the smile disappeared, his lips now pursed in a thin line as he made his way over. Voldemort smiled, happy to see that his Lucius was back to himself.
 
As soon as he reached him, Lucius fell on a knee, his head bent and his blond hair cascading down his shoulders. The position hid the eyes that Voldemort wanted to see.
 
"Raise your head, Lucius," Voldemort reached out, his long spidery fingers entangling in the blond strands and tugging at them roughly.
 
Lucius's head darted up, his eyes wide with fear, and he whimpered, "M-My Lord."
 
"Lucius," Voldemort purred, the pads of his fingers massaged Lucius's scalp, "Do you love your wife?"
 
"I..." Lucius didn't dare to look away from his master, but Voldemort was aware that he was struggling with the question. He didn't like the way he thought about it, or the way his eyes crinkled when he was thinking up a lie, or the way his lips twitched as though he was holding back a smile at the thought of the traitor that he called his wife. Voldemort didn't like the way he cleared his throat and glanced, very quickly, at Potter almost pleadingly.
 
"Don't lie to me, Lucius," Voldemort growled, anger burning in his stomach like a volcano's lava, escaping after it's eruption.
 
"I do, My Lord." Lucius bowed his head again and his hands, that were spread on the cold cement, reached for his ankles. He leaned down, never dislodging Voldemort's long fingers that curled in his hair tighter, and kissed the pale feet that rested near him. "Please, My Lord."
 
A thought occurred to Voldemort and he smiled, his grip loosening on the hair until he was just petting Lucius's head. "I don't want to hurt her, Lucius. Or your son. But they failed me, you see."
 
"My Lord, p-p-please." The kisses on his feet were warm, but sloppy. His hands were shaking, Voldemort could feel them quiver against his ankles, and his voice dripped with desperation, which was exactly the way Voldemort liked it. "I'll do a-anything!"
 
"For your wife and son?" Voldemort rose to his feet and stepped away from Lucius. He pointed towards Narcissa Malfoy, who was pleasantly conversing with Bellatrix. However, even her facade was see-through. Her eyes strayed towards Voldemort and Lucius, before flying back to her sister. This happened more than once.
 
"No, My Lord," Lucius sounded defeated. He crawled after Voldemort and when Voldemort reached out towards him, he grabbed his hand, kissing the cold, ghost like digits. "For you, always for you."
 
"My pet," Voldemort chuckled darkly. His spare hand caressed the skin on Lucius's cheek and he marvelled at the sight of the splash of pink that rose on them. He looked so beautiful on his knees, begging his master, desperate to please the man that stood above him – the man he served. "My favourite pet."
 
"Always, My Lord."
 
"Come, Lucius. Rise and follow me." Voldemort glided through the crowd of Death Eaters, receiving bows as he went, and through the large, oak doors. Hogwarts was more beautiful now than it ever was. The hallways are decorated with green and silver, and snakes are drawn to move and hiss on banners. The only portraits that contained wizards were the Purebloods who had been sorted into Slytherin and any that said a word against Voldemort were thrown into a pile of ash where all the former portraits, Dumbledore included, were burnt in a raging fire.
 
It had been ceremonious event, with the Death Eaters crowding around the roaring flames and laughing and cheering, while Potter and the rest of his living friends watched on. Of course, after the portraits, there was the procession of prisoners that were murdered in front of Potter. The others who kept their lives were given to the loyal Death Eaters as slaves.
 
The room Voldemort entered was his own, the former room of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. As he neared the bed, he stopped, his long fingers slid over the soft cotton sheets. "Do you know what I want, Lucius?"
 
Lucius's body tensed, his mouth was once again pressed in a thin line as he nodded stiffly. "Yes, My Lord."
 
"Would you give it to me? Or shall I be accompanied by your wife?" Voldemort glided over to the mirror beside the bed and reached out to touch the wooden trimming. It was old, very antique, and belonged to the Great Merlin before, landing in the hands of Dumbledore. And now it was in Voldemort's possession, just like everything else the old fool used to own.
 
He ran his hands down his cheeks, the mirror reflecting his movements as his livid, scarlet eyes rested on Lucius in the glass.
 
Lucius took a step forward and fell on his knees. "Take me, My Lord. Anything for you."
 
"Anything for me? Or anything for your wife?" Voldemort spun on his bare heels and strode over to Lucius. He grabbed his chin roughly, fingers pressing into the skin hard enough to bruise and hissed, "You will forget your wife, Lucius. Tonight, you will forget her."
 
"A-Always, My Lord." His voice shook, his eyes darker than ever before in something akin to lust. Whether it was fake or not, the fear in his voice appeased Voldemort immensely.
 
"Come, Lucius."
 
They made it to the bed before the touches on Lucius's body began. They weren't soft; they were rough, with Voldemort's long fingers gripping tightly and his fingernails digging deep. There weren't any moans, just whimpers of pain as clothes were ripped off bodies and fingers probed. There wasn't any extensive preparation and even with a muttered spell of 'Lubricus,' it didn't help as muscles stretched and skin tore.
 
Lucius's eyes clenched closed, but his whimpers of fear drove Voldemort harder and faster. Long, deep red marks marred Lucius's back and fingernail shaped punctures blemished his arse cheeks. His hair was a mess now, pieces of it drenched in sweat and splayed across the dark pillows, giving him a halo appearance. However, Lucius was anything but innocent; he was a demon, a Death Eater, and Voldemort's pet.
 
"I am satisfied now, Lucius," Voldemort cooed as if he was talking to a child. His touch to Lucius's cheek made the Death Eater grimace, but he didn't pull away. He could never pull away without punishment.
 
"Did you enjoy y-yourself, My Lord?" Lucius whispered, his gaze lingered on the roof, he was too afraid to look at his master.
 
Voldemort grabbed Lucius's cheeks between his fingers and jerked his head to the side. He smiled, gleefully watching a shiver wrack at the other man's body. "Do you still love your wife, Lucius?"
 
"I do, My Lord." Lucius whimpered around the tight grip on his face.
 
"She is a traitor, Lucius, you know that." Voldemort's mouth crushed against the quivering lips and his tongue invaded the warm mouth. It was hard for Voldemort to keep warm, his body was ice cold in temperature, but the feeling of Lucius's warmth always sent a spike of heat through his body.
 
When the rough kiss was broken, Lucius swallowed deeply. "I'll do anything for you, My Lord."
 
"I'm sure you will, Lucius." His fingers petted Lucius's naked arm. "I'm sure you will."
 
Voldemort grinned. He would keep Narcissa Malfoy alive, because there was so much more to gain with her around. Like her husband.