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Chapter Text

“My Lord, we've found him.”

Hadrian picks his head up from where he'd been reading one of his father's battle reports. As the Dark Lord's son and most powerful Healer, he is expected to tend to all of those most useful to their cause when injured, ill, or cursed. The job includes reading reports so he'd be able to deduce the best course of action to treat the more difficult ailments and curses.

“Have you?” he demands coolly, setting aside the report and standing from his desk.

“Yes, My Lord,” Rabastan Lestrange replies with a half-bow. The fact that he addresses him formally impresses upon him how serious the situation must be.

“Did you bring him here?”

“Of course. Unfortunately, he seems a bit...unwell.”

“Take me to him.” It is a steel-laced demand. He steps around the desk, approaching the other wizard with purpose. “Where did you find him?”

Rabastan turns to lead the way, ever the dutiful and obedient follower, one to whom Lord Voldemort entrusted his son's safety. He is also one of Hadrian's best friends, when he isn't performing his duties as a Death Eater or bodyguard. “We found him in the basement of a shack near a Muggle brothel in Ireland,” he dutifully reports. “He did not appear to be there of his own volition, as he was bound to a chair with magic-suppressing restraints, and he appeared to be in distress.”

Hadrian gets the distinct impression that everything Rabastan says is a severe understatement. “Perhaps his father was telling the truth about the kidnapping then,” he suggests.

“I do not believe so. You will see why in a moment.”

Hadrian hums and follows along only two paces behind, mildly perplexed. When they arrive at one of the many drawing rooms in Riddle Manor, Hadrian pauses at the sight that greets him.

After searching for months, and getting very little help from Abraxas Malfoy—who is supposed to be the worried, doting father whose only child and heir just disappeared—Hadrian's betrothed, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, a beauty in every sense of the word and prolific wizard in his own right, has finally been found. He's sprawled, or more slouched, in one of the comfortable armchairs, wrists bound to the arms with magic-suppressing chains and cuffs. He's sweating, pale complexion flushed as if from fever, and there seems to be a charm preventing him from speaking, eyes watery and dull, pupils dilated with only a ring of that pale blue left.

He squirms and wriggles, though not in a way that suggests he is attempting to escape, but more in a way that indicates pain and discomfort. His long platinum hair is a total mess, dirty and tangled, and his normally piercing blue eyes are glazed over and bloodshot, perhaps from the fever or the effect of possible drugs.

The blond's robes are disheveled and stained, torn and ragged in some places, and it doesn't appear as though he has trousers underneath. There is quite a bit of chest on display as well. Did his father's men bring him here naked under his robes? Did they snatch him so quick from where they found him, they wouldn't allow the clearly ill man dress? Had he already been Silenced when they found him, or did they cast the spell so they wouldn't have to listen to his protests or complaints?

Lucius' eyes meet Hadrian's emerald gaze, and he tries to say something, shifting restlessly, and the change in position has Hadrian realizing that there is something odd about his stomach.

It's rounded and taut, as if a few months pregnant.

His initial reaction is anger, understandably, a deep sense of betrayal and wrath bubbling under the surface, burning like hot coals in his chest. The Malfoy heir had been promised to him, in a pact between Lord Voldemort and Lord Malfoy, since before either of them had been born, and the idea that the other wizard had not been faithful to their future union, nor remained pure in virtue, infuriated him. He had been found near a Muggle brothel, for Merlin's sake!

To even go so far as to take a very complicated and expensive potion, which would have had to be catered specifically to his body for it to work, to allow him to conceive as a male bearer drives nails under his skin. As what, a bit to end the betrothal? To break a contract that Hadrian would have released him from if he had only had the decency to ask?

He remains calm, however. Despite the venomous anger slithering through his veins, he keeps a tight hold on any outward reaction and very deliberately tucks his magic in close to him and does not lash out.

Hadrian has always had impeccable control. He is not quick to lash out like his father, a product of his Black and Peverell heritage, at least on his mother's side; the half of the family that had produced Cousin Bellatrix had clearly been the half suffering from Black Madness. In fact, this control over his reactions and his magic is one of several reasons why Hadrian became the youngest Master of the Deathly Hallows—the Master of Death—at the tender age of nineteen. Lord Voldemort had been equal parts proud and outraged that his son had achieved the goal he strove for for decades, and by accident. Had it been anyone else, the Dark Lord would have done everything in his considerable power to eradicate his rival and take the Hallows for himself.

In no time, his analytical brain takes over, and he steps forward to further examine his betrothed, compartmentalizing it so that he regards him as a patient. He sends the Death Eaters except for the Lestrange Brothers away with the order for one of them to summon his father to join him swiftly.

“Did you find him with the Silencing Charm, or did you place it on him yourselves?” Hadrian inquires, drawing his wand.

“We found him with it,” Rodolphus replies, eyeing him warily, cognizant of his tone and body language.

“And you did not remove it?”

“A simple Finite did not bear positive results. We thought it best not to attempt other methods until after you had a chance to examine him, given his current condition,” Rabastan reports, steely gaze watching Lucius writhe and squirm.

Hadrian nods absently at the logic and casts a few diagnostic spells. No pregnancy, but there is a bit of a fever, mild dehydration and malnutrition, mild respiratory distress, purple bruises in the shape of handprints on his legs and upper arms and one on the side of his face—like he'd been slapped and manhandled—a severely depleted magical core, and the presence of several potions he doesn't recognize.

Scowling, Hadrian waves his wand above Lucius' lips, plump and reddened where it appears he has been gnawing and scraping at them in distress. Something thick and green, deep in color like grass, materializes where before nothing had looked out of place, like a paste over the blond's lower half of his face, from his perfect straight nose down to his chin.

“Well, that explains why the Finite didn't work,” Rabastan remarks, visibly uneasy.

Beside him, Rodolphus conjures a small glass dish so that Hadrian can scrape some of the potion-paste off Lucius for testing. He takes the dish back to cover it with a lid, and Hadrian works on Vanishing the rest from Lucius' lips, and what seems to have gotten down his throat into his lungs.

The Elder wand buzzes like a swarm of bees in his hand when he passes it over the blond's torso and abdomen. Hadrian pauses, then parts the half-closed robes. He is naked under them, as suspected, except for the golden amulet Hadrian had gifted him for one of his birthdays; Hadrian has to rein himself in as to not be distracted by all of that gorgeous pale flesh on display, exquisite even marked with scrapes and bruises. Despite himself, his eyes still stray, and they go wide at what he sees.

Lucius has a woman's anatomy as well as a man's.

His pectorals are soft and plump, pleasant handfuls of flesh rather than the flatter, harder planes of a man's, and the nipples are pink with more pronounced areolae—again, more typical of female biology than a male's; they are currently pebbled up with the chill of the room and darkened to a fetching cherry color, innocently seductive. The lines of a lean torso lead down to even more dramatic differences, or perhaps changes.

While he does have a penis, it's quite small; it can't be more than three inches long, and there are no testicles beneath. Instead, in their place, the sensual curves and contours of a rather pretty pussy lie under the small penis. The lips of his pussy are hairless—in fact, he doesn't think he sees any body hair on him—pale pink, and pleasantly plump, complete with labia and a hidden button of a clitoris, and a vaginal hole. His hiips even look a little wider than what is normal in a man, though still on the slim side, creating a cradle in his pelvis usually seen in women for easier childbearing.

Judging from the swell of flesh around that area and his thighs, it looks like Lucius has a truly impressive ass as well, although to be fair, someone doesn't have to be a woman to have a fat ass like this. Cousin Sirius is proof of that.

Upon closer inspection, he sees there are silvery plugs snugged up into Lucius' anus and vaginal entrance. The frown deepens on his brow, and he spreads Lucius' thighs further, unsure if he should be pleased that the man doesn't resist even minutely.

“P-please, My Lord,” Lucius suddenly implores, speaking for the first time, voice a hoarse rasp from the potion and the prolonged disuse. “Get it out of me, please...”

Hadrian hums and uses his wand to conjure a basin, a bad feeling the pit of his stomach. He places the basin on the floor in front of where he is kneeling, under where Lucius' lower body juts out from over the edge of the seat of the chair. Tapping the protruding bases of the plugs, he uses his magic to slowly extract them from the blond's body, careful not to cause harm or further damage. As soon as they've popped free, an oddly magenta liquid starts pouring out of the gaping, flexing holes. Lucius wails in humiliated agony, turning his reddened face toward his bicep to try to hide it from view and from his own shame as his body expels the foreign fluids.

Coming from behind him, Hadrian's senses flare, and his magic reaches out to greet him as Lord Voldemort steps inside the room. Hadrian does not turn his attention from his patient, a gentle hand resting atop the distended belly and pushing down with a careful, firm pressure. The fluid gushes out faster, bringing wastes and what appears to be deconstructed tissues out with it.

Lucius makes a noise like a dying animal, wracked with tremors.

“My son,” comes the insidious, serpentine drawl of the Dark Lord Voldemort. “Please explain to me why we are purging the digestive system of a stranger in one of my sitting rooms rather than a hospital or infirmary, or even a restroom.”

“This is my long lost betrothed, Da,” Hadrian responds calmly, offering Lucius some comfort by soothingly rubbing his hand up and down one of his spread thighs, nothing how soft and silky smooth his skin is without the hair or any sign of dermatological blemishes to impede the glide. “It would seem he was held against his will, Silenced with a strange potion that Rodolphus has taken a sample of, and filled to the brim with whatever potion this is.” he angles his body to the side a bit, allowing his father a better view of what is pooling in the conjured basin. “And he has female body parts.”

He doesn't need to see his father's face to know his interest is piqued. The fluctuation in his magic, something Hadrian has always been sensitive to as the Dark Lord's only son, is tell-tale enough, revealing his mood and the power behind his scrutiny. The tall man glides forward, peering at Lucius' nether region with clinical interest, and the basin of fluid nearly completely full.

No wonder Lucius had been so uncomfortable, and his belly so inflated. That easily is two gallons worth of liquid, not counting the wastes that came out with it.

While Voldemort is observing what he can with sight alone, Hadrian cats a new diagnostic spell. Satisfied that all foreign fluids seems to have been purged from the mortified, trembling Pureblood, Hadrian casts a gentle cleansing charm and pulls the robes closed, covering his nudity.

“You are welcome to test the potions, Da,” Hadrian says, releasing Lucius from the restraints and helping to sit his limp body back up into the chair in a more comfortable position. “I would like a report on what you find, if possible.”

“I will, thank you,” is the reply. He summons a chair to sit nearby, and Rodolphus collects the basin to go with the other sample. “Now let's see, Young Mr. Malfoy, we'd like to ask a few questions to get to the bottom of this odd situation we find ourselves in.”

Hadrian calls for a House Elf and asks for a meal htat would be light on the stomach and for a new set of robes for his betrothed. Mipsy nods her head and pops away, leaving behind a pitcher of ice water and several empty glasses. He pours a glass and helps Lucius hold it so he can sip from it. His father waits patiently, aware his son will not let much else happen if he is not able to see to a patient's most immediate needs, much less for his betrothed.

The gratitude on Lucius' feverish face is almost heart-wrenching. His shaking has decreased, but he's still clearly unwell. Hadrian coaxes the full glass of water into him, making sure not to allow him to spill or drink too fast. He stands to move around to the back of the chair, conjuring a brush to start to detangle the long, almost white bedraggled tresses. He gives his father a subtle nod.

“Young Malfoy, we would like to know how we arrived to this point,” Voldemort begins, doing his best to sound as cultured as he looks, and not like the monster he often can be. His dark curls framing his pale face help to soften his features, but his crimson eyes are unnerving at the best of times, and are portals to the burning pits of Hell at the worst. “You have been missing for quite some time. My son has been distraught over your loss. Shall we alert your father that you have been recovered?”

“N-no, please,” Lucius denies, voice only slightly better with the soothing water he'd drunk moments ago. There is an underlying note of panic. “I'd rather not see him right now.”

Voldemort's eyebrow arches. “Am I to assume your father was involved in your disappearance?”

Wordlessly, Lucius nods his head, slowly as to not cause Hadrian to accidentally tug his hair. “How long have I been gone?”

“It is unclear,” Hadrian tells him in an even voice, eyes on his task. “We became aware of your absence the day of my birthday celebration, which you were supposed to attend so we could publicly announce the official betrothal. Neither you or your father were in attendance, and when Lord Nott arrived at your home in an attempt to fetch you, Abraxas put on quite the show about your having been kidnapped and that the Aurors hadn't been able to find any leads. That was the beginning of August, and it is currently the end of October. So we've been searching for you for two months.”

And what relief he feels to finally have him back, despite their circumstances. He scowls at a clump of dirt matting the back of his hair, whispering a charm to make it easier to detangle without hurting the head the stubborn locks are attached to.

“I think I was taken in the middle of July,” Lucius whispers, a particularly hard shudder running through him, rattling his teeth.

“And who took you?” Voldemort prompts. He gives off the impression of a large cat, like a jaguar, deceptively at ease but ready to strike at any moment as soon as its prey makes a wrong move. His magic is a massive prowling thing, filling the room with its presence.

Hadrian's own magic subtly forms a barrier around Lucius, protective and making sure that the weakened blond isn't negatively affected or frightened by the Dark Lord's ire.

“My father and some of this associates,” Lucius replies. “I didn't know at first that he was involved, even though he was angry at me.”

“I assume he had motivations other than anger at whatever paltry transgressions you may have committed.” A coiled anaconda, eyeing its next meal, not unlike Nagini.

“He wanted me to call off the betrothal.”

Hadrian stills, fingers and brush still buried in the blond strands, halfway finished with the self-appointed task. Emerald eyes meet deepest ruby, and the simmering rage he feels is reflected there.

There had been a stipulation that either of the two Heirs could call off the betrothal if certain requirements were met. If they found each other incompatible, they would have to give valid and well-considered reasons as to why they could not work out a beneficial relationship, romantic or otherwise. If they found someone else they fell in love with and could not reconcile any other outcome; or if one of them was found to be unfaithful. Their fathers and other outside parties were not able to influence them or cancel the betrothal themselves, bound by the magic in this decades-old contract.

“Why?” Voldemort demands.

Hadrian's hands pick up the methodical motions once more, steady and controlled to keep from harming his patient, his precious promised.

He's gone through enough, after all.

“Father was not pleased to learn the origin of Hadrian's conception,” Lucius replies after some hesitance. He slowly draws his bruised legs up onto the chair, curling up.

“Hadrian has the blood of Black, Peverell, and Slytherin coursing through his veins,” Voldemort snarls, defensive rage making his voice reverberate. “He is one of the most magically powerful wizards in all of Europe. What does Malfoy have to disdain against my son?” The fireplace blazes to life in a vicious roar, and the furniture and light fixtures tremble and rattle as his magic rages around them.

“He was born out of wedlock and not of your sperm,” Lucius whimpers, ducking his head and curling in on himself as he cowers. “And y-your blood, My Lord. H-he found your Muggle lineage...”

“Da, please calm yourself,” Hadrian says over the din of savage, angry magic, his own reaching out to soothe and tame. “Save your anger for the correct Malfoy and his associates.”

Everything Lucius had said is true, at any rate. Muscida Black had been raped and impregnated by her own uncle, and in order to save her child of the mutations and weaknesses common in children born of incestuous copulations, let alone several generations worth of inbreeding, she had come to beg for help from the Dark Lord. Voldemort had seen it as an opportunity to gain more support in his ranks, to experiment with magic he had not yet had the chance to dabble in, and possibly gain an heir as well. In a highly dangerous but surprisingly not Dark ritual, Voldemort overwrote ninety-five percent of Kornephoras Black's DNA with his own, provided by about a pint of his blood, a sort of blood adoption performed on an unborn fetus, which caused magic to recognize Hadrian as Tom Marvolo Riddle's biological son.

Kornephoras had been given the Dementor's Kiss to pay for his crimes. Muscida died during childbirth, hauntingly similar to Voldemort's own birth and yet not. Hadrian was raised between three households: his father Lord Voldemort's; Orion and Walburga Black, alongside Sirius and Regulus; and Cygnus and Druella Black, alongside Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Andromeda. Druella had a hobby with tracing back through ancestries and discovered Kornephoras was descended from a line of Blacks that had married a grandchild of a Peverell. A DNA test had shown that the five percent that remained of Kornephoras' genes within Hadrian bore that line.

It was an honor to have three powerful bloodlines all in one green-eyed, curly-haired package, and Hadrian had the magical strength to back it up. The little bit of Muggle blood from Tom Riddle Sr. hadn't even a chance to tarnish such a legacy.

“I refused,” Lucius continues, voice weak, limbs restless. “I wanted to honor the contract. I wanted to remain betrothed and to stand at My Lord Hadrian's side. He tried to use Imperius on me, but the amulet you gifted me on my seventeenth birthday protected me from it and diverted the magic back to him so he can't even cast that curse anymore.”

“So when you resisted, and he couldn't control you, he punished you by holding you captive,” Hadrian concludes, smoothing his hand over the portion of hair he'd brushed through, just a small section left to go.

Lucius nods, drooping, exhausted after his ordeal but valiantly clinging on to continue talking. “At first to prevent me from being around you. When the Dark Lord sent out search parties to join the Aurors he paid off to make it look good, he had me moved to the Muggle world to hide me better. He continued to try to convince me through threats and mild torture spells.”

“Mild—” Hadiran splutters incredulously.

“And then he started siphoning my magic,” Lucius trudges on, seeming to not want to wait too long in case he loses his nerve, or something interrupts them and prevents him from finishing, “to exhaust my core and try to wear me down that way. He tried to transfer the magic of the contract to someone else of his choosing, but it wouldn't budge. The more I defied him, the angrier he became, and the longer you searched, the more desperate he became.

“He decided he'd make me...unacceptable. I think he went mad. He'd siphoned my magic into an orb, and he told me he'd make a new, more obedient son from it. He found a Potions Master that would brew a potion to change my gender. Once he molded me into the shape he wanted, he was going to pass me around until someone knocked me up, or until someone killed me. He couldn't disown me, or the magic of the contract would alert you to a breach, which would endanger his reputation and his own magic. If I break our betrothal by being unfaithful, then the contract would have simply set you free.”

“How is the potion supposed to work?” Hadrian asks quietly, finishing up the last of the dirty mats. He strokes the brush bristles through the smoothed strands and murmurs a light charm to remove some of the oils and filth from his hair and scalp until they can get him to a bath. Then Hadrian can rub in bruise paste and being pampering his traumatized partner.

“The first round is administered anally and held in place with a plug,” the blond says, carefully not looking anyone in the eye. “It begins the physical transformation. Once the vagina has formed, the second dose is inserted inside the new hole so that the rest of the organs can be developed. The male body parts slowly melt out of existence the longer the potion stays inside. The entire process is supposed to take twenty-four hours, and any more time than that just emphasizes cosmetic aspects—how fertile I'd be, how large my breasts would grow, possibly wider hips and ass, too. Soften my face to appear more feminine.”

“So we caught it before you lost your cock entirely. It remains to be seen how functional your new reproductive organs are.” Voldemort mulls the information over in his head, expression grave.

In the interim, Mipsy finally returns with a meal of chicken noodle soup and lightly buttered rolls, and a set of pajamas and robes. She helps dress the exhausted blond and uses her magic to clean what filth she can from his flesh while Hadrian watches.

“Is the potion reversible?” Voldemort finally queries as Mipsy is preparing to help Lucius eat.

“I don't know,” the younger wizard answers. “Father did not say, and I had not heard of the potion prior. I wasn't afforded the luxury of questioning the Potion Master.”

“I shall find out,” the Dark Lord declares, rising. “The betrothal remains in effect. If you plan to consummate your relationship, I suggest you exercise caution and utilize contraceptives until we know the finer details of the potion.”

“You still want me?” Lucius breathes, incredulous and full of hopeful wonder. “Even as this odd creature with too many parts?”

“Your gender, or your number of parts, were never what I cared about, only your with and personality,” Hadrian admits as his father takes his leave, the Lestrange Brothers in tow, relieved of their duties for the evening. Mipsy pops out with the basin of potions, likely to take to Voldemort's lab. “And honestly, as you are now only offers more to play with.” He lifts one of Lucius' hands to his mouth to kiss, a playful lilt in his tone.

Lucius flushes a little bit darker, but at least Hadrian knows it's from something other than his fever. He wonders how virtuous his lovely spouse-to-be truly is, if he is just playing coy, or if he actually is a bashful little thing.

He looks forward to finding out for himself.

Hadrian coaxes the blond into eating at least half of the bowl of soup and one of the buttered rolls. To try to make him feel more comfortable, he eats one of the remaining three rolls with him, talking softly about nothing in particular. Greed eyes are ever watchful, making sure there is no distress, he doesn't choke, and that he takes sips of water in between every few bites. Towards the end, any energy Lucius had left had finally waned, and he droops now, exhausted.

Hadrian scoops Lucius into a bridal carry, carefully arranging his arms just so in order to properly support Lucius' new curves and weight distribution, and whisks him out of the room and up the stairs to his personal suite; Mipsy pops into the room as he leaves to clean up any remaining mess and leftover food Lucius hadn't been able to eat.

“I hope you don't mind,” Hadrian says in a soft tone, allowing his magic and the Elder wand to act freely to his desires so he doesn't have to shift his grip on his precious cargo; doors open before him easily and close behind him, and the taps to his large bathtub, partially sunken into the floor, turn on to start filling the spacious basin. “I would prefer you stay in my rooms tonight, if for no other reason than I would like to keep an eye on your injuries and your fever. We can arrange for rooms to be prepared for you at a later time, perhaps in a day or so when I am assured of your recovery.”

“I am not opposed,” Lucius replies, words slightly slurred, head nestled on Hadrian's shoulder. “I would prefer to not be alone right now anyway. I know I'm safe with you.”

“You are safe here,” Hadrian promises, understanding the need for closeness, especially after one or more traumas. He gently lowers the blond to sit atop the closed toilet lid. “Penny will help you bathe. After, I will tend to your bruises, and your food will have digested enough that I can administer a few potions to aid your fever and your overall healing.”

“Can you let Severus Snape know I'm all right?” Lucius requests, a little unsteady on his perch.

“I can if you wish,” Hadrian agrees. He remembers that the two of them had been quite close in Hogwarts. He'd never had any cause for concern despite this. Their closeness had always been platonic, not to mention Snape would never put his potions apprenticeship with Lord Voldemort at risk by fraternizing with the Dark Lord's son's betrothed.

“He won't say anything to Father,” the blond adds, blinking a little bemusedly at Penny as the sweet, green-eyed House Elf appears to begin undressing him to prepare for the bath. “He and Father never got along.”

“Half-bloods aren't treated fairly by Blood Purists like your father, unfortunately.” Hadrian turns away to fetch towels and some of his own more comfortable pajamas for Lucius to sleep in.

He also can't deny that he'll get a little thrill seeing the smaller blond dressed in his clothes.

He sends a Patronus to Snape as he'd been requested, letting the man know Lucius is safe but ill and injured and that he would be welcome to come see him tomorrow afternoon, provided that he is discreet, and Lucius' condition hasn't worsened. The silvery, noble stag shakes his great rack of antlers before dashing off into the distance.

With a flick of his wand, he sends the pile of pajamas and towels floating into the bathroom. Humming softly to himself, muscles slowly releasing a tension he'd scarcely known he held until it is gone, Hadrian moves on to preparing himself for bed. The work he had been doing earlier can wait until he is satisfied with Lucius' care and recovery.

With barely a thought, he transfigures the settee into a full-sized bed so there are two beds now, unsure that Lucius would want to share a bed so soon, especially after his ordeal, nor that he would be able to keep his hands to himself. Nothing so sordid, but he so desired to stroke and touch where he never has before. They had always had limited contact, never permitted to sit too close or to do more than hold hands for brief periods. Not until the announcement of their engagement, per Malfoy Sr.'s request.

However, the older wizard's attempt to sever their betrayal, as if he had any right, nullified any truce or willingness to mollify him and his imbecilic sensibilities, slashing any respect Hadrian may have held for him.

Thus, Hadrian fully intends to do as he pleases, including but not limited to doting on his fiancé. He can only hope that Lucius will feel the same, or at least be willing to indulge his desires.

Penny is swift and efficient, and she is soon helping a freshly bathed Lucius into the bedroom and to Hadrian's bed. While the Healer gathers his bruise past and fever-reducer potion, she fixes the second bed up so Hadrian will be able to sleep comfortably. The bed is moved to sit a few feet away without blocking the exit or the bathroom. A hesitant smile crosses the blond's tired face, looking pretty adorable in the too-large pajamas. Hadrian has absolutely no intentions of resizing them from him, even if asked.

Long, dexterous fingers weave thick platinum tresses into a French braid as Hadrian reverently tends to the marks across Lucius' abdomen—delayed bruising from having been stretched and inflated beyond just simple, natural bloating—and the handprints marring his knees, thighs, forearms, and biceps. He pays special attention to the bruise that has purpled up his face, thankful it isn't any worse and that it's only the one.

Lucius sits still and quiet all the while, struggling to stay awake. His fingers nervously play with the bedspread. Pale lashes flutter against high cheekbones, and he tilts his head back when urged to accept the fever-reducer and a sleeping aid.

“We will talk more in the morning, my sweet, when you have had time to rest,” Hadrian promises, lowering Lucius down to lie on his side. Penny helps tuck him under the covers, and Hadrian allows a small smile to quirk his lips as he watches Lucius settle down into slumber without an ounce of resistance.

~*~~*~*~*~~*~~*~*~*~~*~~*~*~*~~*~

Lucius still has a fever in the morning when they awaken to the House Elves bringing breakfast. He only eats half of what he's given again, and he seems more restless and anxious. Hadrian observes as he paces with an odd sort of energy, hot and flushed despite the potion newly administered after his meal, breath a little fast and skin slightly ashen under the flush. At least the bruises are looking better, and Hadrian reapplies the ointment to continue to soothe and aid the healing. Lucius squirms the whole time.

Eventually, after ensuring the blond is dressed warmly, he decides to take him to his father for a second opinion and perhaps stronger potions for the fever.

Snape is there, working alongside Voldemort in his Potions Lab, seemingly observing something about the magenta potion, cleansed of the wastes that had been flushed out with it. Hadrian allows Lucius to greet and cling to his tall, willowy friend he hadn't seen in months, who had adamantly joined the Death Eaters in searching for the missing Malfoy heir; even his own father hadn't gone so far, even while pretending to be distraught over losing his son.

While they reaffirm contact, the green-eyed wizard approaches his father, who greets him as he always has done: the coil of an arm around Hadrian's shoulders, the fleeting touch of spidery long fingers through his tamed curls—wilder than his own coiffed waves but nowhere near as wild as Muscida's had been, or as wild as all of the Potters'.

“Good morning, my child,” he says in the tone he only ever uses for Hadrian.

“Good morning, Da,” he replies, just as quietly, just as warmly, a small smile on his face.

How is our patient?”

“He is restless,” Hadrian tells him, a hint of concern in his tone. “His fever is resisting the effects of a common fever-reducer potion, and his respirations are more shallow than I would like.”

“Young Mr. Snape is assisting in breaking down the components of the gender-changing potion and identifying the different side effects it has,” the Dark Lord says, a gentle rub of his hand to his son's shoulder almost as an afterthought. His mind is clearly on the potion, always focused on new knowledge and experiments.

He is not an overly affectionate man, but he does his best for his son, especially after the tongue-lashing he'd received from Auntie Druella so many years ago about the danger of a child as powerful as Hadrian growing touch-starved. He needs physical touch from other Wix to stay grounded, to remain firmly rooted in reality, and at one point, Hadrian as a young boy had runt he risk of falling into his magic and never coming out of it; three ancient bloodlines in his veins was too much for one person to handle at such a young age, and if not for the support of many powerful wix, Hadrian would not be standing here as he is today.

“We should know more by mid-afternoon, My Lords,” Snape offers as he guides Lucius closer.

Surprisingly, Lucius switches to grasping onto Hadrian as soon as he is within reach, tucking his face into the taller wizard's neck. After a poause where dark eyes calculatingly watched his fair-haired friend, Snape adds, “Perhaps there's something there that will explain some of his odd behaviors. Lucius has not been ill enough for me to confidently say that this is not his typical conduct while impaired.”

“Do you have a stronger fever-reducer on hand, Da?” Hadrian inquires, unbothered by the clinginess beyond the initial surprise. He adjusts his hold to accommodate his fiancé.

The Dark Lord hums thoughtfully, going to his store room. Snape follows, muttering about allergies and substitutions. Lucius watches only fleetingly, silvery blue eyes hazy, and then his head has tucked itself back into Hadrian's chest. With very little thought, Hadrian's hand lifts to play with the strands that have escaped last night's braid.

“Mmm, warm,” Lucius murmurs, voice dreamy.

Dark curls bob as he nods. “Yes, you are, my lovely,” Hadrian agrees. “We're going to try to fix it for you soon.”

Lucius mumbles, sounding a bit disgruntled, and Hadrian rubs his hand up and down his slender back. He idly things he'll have to postpone a few meetings and consultations so he can direct his care and attention on Lucius solely. No one else has been injured or fallen ill in his father's regime, so he should be able to provide his full concentration.

Someone will need to fetch Lucius' belongings. If he knows his father, Abraxas will be in custody soon, if he isn't already, so it will be easy to make arrangements for someone to go in and retrieve everything with Lucius' magical signature. Perhaps Snape and one of the more trained Death Eaters.

His clothes will need to be re-tailored to accommodate his new curves, as well. Hadrian makes a mental note to speak to Narcissa or Andromeda later about undergarments, about which he has no expertise to offer; he wouldn't want to risk providing the wrong type or size for Lucius and cause him undue pain and discomfort. Despite how they came to be, Lucius' new breasts really are quite lovely, and it would be a shame to damage them, no matter how momentarily they may remain.

If they are permanent additions, for whatever reason, he refuses to make a mistake now while under the assumption that they are temporary.

Da and Snape emerge with a few vials of potion, and Voldemort allows his apprentice to explain each, the dosage, and that since Lucius had already taken a dose of the regular fever-reducer, he should wait another hour and take only a half-dose this first round; the rest of the dose could be administered two hours later if needed. Hadrian already knows all of this, but he listens anyway, as Snape needs the experience for the apprenticeship.

After he has handed over the vials, which Hadrian tucks away into a robe pocket, and Voldemort has moved away, Snape says, “Are you making him do that?”

Hadrian blinks, nonplussed. “Make who do what?”

“Lucius. Are you making him cling to you like a limpet?”

“No, of course not. He is doing this of his own volition.” As if to prove his point, Lucius sighs and nuzzles his face closer to Hadrian's neck, breath warm and light against the other wizard's skin.

Snape narrows his eyes. “Lucius does not cling. He is very conscious of the placement of other people's bodies in accordance to his, and he avoids physical contact unless he is with someone he trusts implicitly, and even then, it does not ever get to this extent.”

From the corner of his eye, Hadrian sees his father's head turn to peer at them from the corner of his, alert at the sound of his apprentice's apparent hostility. A wary serpent observing a potential enemy.

“I distinctly remember him being quite affectionate with Mrs. Malfoy before he unfortunate passing.” Hadrian feels the need to point out, trying not to seem possessive as his arm coils around Lucius' waist. The thought of Lucius being this physically affectionate with other people outside of his family is only mildly distressing compared to other issues at the moment.

The blond seems not to take notice of the conversation happening around or about him. He clearly is still very tired, and he may be a bit delirious if his sudden fascination with the hems of Hadrian's shirt is any indication.

“Such an example is an outlier,” Snape argues with his infamous, contemptuous sneer. “She was his mother.”

“I have never seen him do this sort of thing with Lord Malfoy, and he is his father.” He knows why, of course. He just needs Snape to see the flaw in his logic.

“Lord Malfoy is not an affectionate person and cannot be put up in comparison to Lady Malfoy.” His tone is such that suggests he believes Hadrian to be an imbecile, and he has gotten more aggressive in his posture and demeanor.

“Lord Voldemort is not an 'affectionate person,'” Hadrian reminds, his tone hardening even as it remains steady and calm. To the side, Voldemort's curious scrutiny has turned hard and cold, his posture stiff. “And yet he will set aside his discomfort in order to provide me with the contact I need or desire. Parents sacrifice for their children's needs, even the ones who think they are not suited for child-rearing. The difference is, Lord Malfoy doesn't value his son as anything other than a pawn, a body to uphold a longstanding legacy, and now not even as that. Lucius knows that, even if it had only been on a subconscious level until now.”

“Lucius may very well actually be a very affectionate person,” Hadrian continues, angling his head to allow Lucius a better access at his neck, where he seems to have found a comfy nook combined with the shelf of his shoulder to rest. “With the loss of his mother, his resources became limited, and given for your need for personal space, he could not very well get that need fulfilled without invading boundaries. I am his fiancé, official announcement notwithstanding, and we have already had prior meetings to test out our compatibility under the escort of our parents and other trusts adults. I assure you, I do not have to order or coerce my intended to be physically affectionate with me.”

He pauses as soft, slightly chapped lips brush his skin along the carotid artery, making goosebumps prickle up along his skin. He swallows and pushes down the flash of arousal the caress causes. “We may need to have a discussion later about acceptable parameters for public displays of affection, but my point remains.”

“Mr. Snape,” the Dark Lord calls, cutting off whatever the other wizard may have been about to retort and attracting his attention with all the force of whiplash. “You would do well to remember your station next time you decide to accuse my son of such unbecoming crimes.” His voice, while smooth and a pleasant volume, tilted in a way not to startle their less cognizant companion, is a deadly omen and forbidding warning.

An iron rod could not be straighter than Snape's spine at this moment. He inclines his head in acknowledgment, and then bows to Hadrian in the next instant. “I apologize, My Lord,” he intones in an even voice. “It was inappropriate of me, and I meant no offense. I am just concerned for my friend's well-being, in light of recent events and his current condition.”

“I understand, Snape,” Hadrian replies. He catches Lucius when he sways to the side a bit. “Do remember, however, that I am a Healer above all else, and Lucius has a severe depletion in his magical core, and has had a rather complicated, non-consensual modification done to his body in very little time. His behavior is going to be out of the norm for a while, and some things may become the new norm, given the circumstances. As a Healer, and as his future life partner, I only have his best interests and consideration for his health at heart.”

In a begrudging manner, Snape nods, and Hadrian decides to take his leave. Arm still wrapped around his waist, he guides Lucius from his Da's laboratory, allowing him to lean heavily into his side as they walk.

Despite having wanted to allow Lucius to be out and about instead of confined to one room, especially after months of captivity, the blond is so out of sorts that it really isn't an advisable course of action. Unfortunately, he is too tired to be disgruntled about it, and as long as Hadrian doesn't exceed more than a few paces away, Lucius is content to nap the day away in Hadrian's bed.

So this is how their morning is spent. Hadrian tucks him into bed and periodically wipes the sweat from his face and neck. At the appropriate times, eh plies him with more medicine, water, and nibbles of crackers and fruit. Lucius fades in and out of sleep, squirming under the covers with whines and whimpers, soothed by skin contact. Hadrian reads between his devoted ministrations, occupying his mind when all he wants to do is hunt down and eviscerate Abraxas Malfoy.

Around one in the afternoon, Lucius gets up to use the loo, splashing cold water on his hot face. Hadrian's magic curls around him protectively to make sure his unsteady legs don't fail him while he walks. He paces around the suite restlessly, one hand low on his flat stomach, as if he aches. The fingers of his other hand touches the items on display on the shelves, sitting on his desk, and hanging on the walls with a mindless curiosity. Eventually, he returns, but to climb into Hadrian's lap rather than the bed.

For Hadrian's pout, he merely lifts his arms to accommodate the new resident of his lap. He hums as he holds his arms akimbo around Lucius until the man finds a comfortable position—sideways, legs hooked over the arm of his chair, head pillowed on Hadrian's chest.

He is non-verbal, communicating in soft noises rather than actual words, which is definitely out of characteristic for the Pureblood raised to uphold the rules and dictated manners of Elite society. The green-eyed wizard takes great pleasure in imagining the popped blood vessels on his father-in-law's face if he could see his son's “unseemly” behavior right now.

Although maybe not. Given that he'd intended on whoring his son out as punishment, maybe he'd be smug instead.

And then Hadrian would have to kill him.

Honestly, the Malfoy patriarch's survival rate isn't looking good. It's just a matter of who will manage to kill him first. With Hadrian's command of the Deathly Hallows, he could bring the man back a few times so interested parties could each have a turn. Such atrocities usually went against his moral code as a Healer, but he is the only son of the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries, and he makes exceptions for those few he loves.

Lucius is one of those few.

Just before 3pm, there is a knock on the door to his suite. A brief test of his magic has him admitting his father, Rabastan, and Snape. The latter looks less than thrilled at the position he finds them in, Da is unphased, and Rabastan has a sparkle of mischief in his eyes, lips twisted in a teasing smirk.

“We have finished breaking down the components of the substances you purged from young Malfoy last night,” Lord Voldemort begins, summoning a chair from across the room to perch in, facing Hadrian's.

At the sound of other voices, Lucius rouses from his light doze, opening his eyes and gazing around blearily. He smiles a little at Snape, seemingly unable to comprehend the dour expression, only recognize the presence of his friend. He straightens up but doesn't remove himself from Hadrian's lap, even when Hadrian holds his arms out of the way to allow him to do so. He clearly is quite content to remain where he is, regardless of his friend's sour displeasure.

Hadrian tests his temperature. While it's still elevated, it seems a bit better than the last time he checked. Nevertheless, the blond is still acting a bit addled.

“What are your conclusions?” Hadrian inquires, smoothing his hand down one of Lucius' legs to tug the pant leg of his pajamas down from where it had ridden up during the shuffling.

Lucius presses his leg up into the touch, so he keeps his hand there, unaffected by the burning heat of Snape's glare.

“At this time, there is no antidote or a time-out on the effects,” the Dark Lord begins, crossing a leg over the other. Rabastan moves to pour tea and hand it over to the powerful man from the tray Penny had brought less than an hour ago. After a sip, he resumes, “We intend on experimenting with the potion once we can accurately replicate it. It will be easier once we drag the info on Malfoy's contacts from the insignificant worm's brain.”

“Has he been apprehended?” Hadrian queries, hoping Da won't be upset about the interruption.

“Don't worry, Haz, we have him locked up tight in the dungeons,” Rabastan says with a malicious grin, using the childhood nickname and blithely ignoring the sharp look Da shoots him for it. “Bella took great pleasure hunting him down.”

I bet she did, Hadrian acknowledges with a tiny smirk. She is a vicious witch with a sadistic streak a mile wide. Insults to her family, and the Dark Lord and his son, did not go unpunished, no matter how small, and Lucius has always been a favorite dress-up toy of hers since they were kids. The fact that he has not already been reported dead says a lot about her current level of restraint, and how she'll be itching to finish the job.

“At this time, we are considering his transformation permanent,” Voldemort says, getting them back on track effortlessly. “There is more, however, which may explain why our companion is so out of sorts.”

Instinctively, Hadrian's muscles tighten, tense and uneasy. His magic coils, poised for attack on an enemy he can't see. In his lap, Lucius makes a soft, confused noise, and his restless fingers touch and stroke over Hadrian's forearm in an attempt to soothe.

Ebony eyes latch onto the action, and Hadrian irrationally wonders if there have been some hidden feelings on Snape's half of the friendship Hadrian had never dialed into because he'd always known Lucius was devoted to him. It would explain some of the sudden animosity and protectiveness he is no seeing, and why he had been so adamant in joining the search.

“There was an aphrodisiac in the mixture which changed young Malfoy's gender,” Voldemort says after an odd pause; Hadrian thinks Snape was supposed to pick up on the explanation, but he'd been too distracted by glaring at his friend's hands touching all over Hadrian's arm. The man even flinches at the Dark Lord's voice and ducks his head guiltily. “Normally an aphrodisiac burns off on its own, or intercourse must occur to help it along. However, in direct combination with the other potions, it changed to something that can't just be fucked out of his system after a few rounds.”

Hadrian suppresses a twitch. It's so startling to hear his usually very articulate and distinguished father use obscene language.

“It's unclear if it was the intention or just pure laziness and coincidence,” Snape picks up, voice a monotone. “Essentially on top of trying to change him from male to female, Lord Malfoy also attempted to turn him into a nymphomaniac, to aid in his...willingness to debase himself for whomever was presented before him. The aphrodisiac used makes it increasingly uncomfortable and difficult to function for its victim to go without some form of sexual contact for extended periods.”

“Sick fuckers basically tried to turn Blondie into a succubus in human form,” Rabastan sneers crassly, but not inaccurately, disgust scrawled across his features.

“The first potion didn't stay inside him the required time to complete young Malfoy's transformation,” Voldemort says. “His urethra is still through his penis, but there are no other male reproductive organs. The remains of them washed out with the wastes found in the fluids removed from his body cavities. We may want to bring a fertility mediwitch to test how functional his female organs are or will be.”

“What should I expect of the aphrodisiac's effects?” Hadrian inquires, buzzing with discontented energy, mind whirling.

They had originally wanted to at least exchange their engagement tokes before engaging in intercourse, a symbol of their devotion to each other, but that may not be feasible now if it's a matter of saving Lucius' body and soul.

“Increased libido is the most obvious answer,” the Dark Lord responds, taking over while Snape's face contorts like he has bitten into a lemon. “Off of the rudimentary tests we were able to perform, other side-effects seems to be that the longer intercourse or other sexual contact is put off, the more agitated and ill he will become. I am almost certain that at least fifty percent of his current fever is due to the fact that he hasn't had any sexual contact since the potion was administered. The restlessness can also be attributed to it, increased desire for physical contact maybe, as I am convinced that part of this situation is his natural mannerisms but enhanced by this unfortunate cocktail of drugs.”

“These are theories, hypotheticals,” Snape adds in a tone and with an expression that leaves no doubt exactly how much he loathes this admittance. “The mixture of the two potions has resulted in an unpredictable anomaly. We will only know for certain through further observation, but there is no telling how long it will take us to parse out more information.”

“Lucius can't consent to anything in his current condition,” Hadrian frets, scowling, trying not to let himself panic over the way events seem to be unfolding. “But I can't accurately treat his illness if part of his symptoms are due to an incurable affliction induced by botched potions.”

Snape's lips twist, as if he has bitten into a bitter fruit. Nothing has even happened, sexual or otherwise, and already there is condemnation in his eyes, in the fold of his arms. Hadrian can feel his temper begin to rise, heated and defensive, and he sits straighter in his chair, facing Snape with a fire burning in emerald eyes.

“You test my patience, Snape,” he says in a cold voice, the empathy and tolerance from earlier this same day fleeing in the face of this man's animosity. “It's as if you believe I am deliberately trying to prey on my fiancé. If that had been my intention, I would not have wasted my time trying to make him well. I would not have waited for the announcement of our engagement. I would have taken what I wanted as soon as I had the desire if my intentions were such. Lucius arrived naked except for dirty robes and with plugs in his orifices. If I wanted to rape him, I could have taken the plugs out and taken him in front of my father's men. I would not have bothered to make sure he was okay, I would not have sent you a Patronus to let you know he had been found, and I would not be concerned over his ability to consent now.”

Hadrian, filled with burning, prowling energy, stands and attempts to set Lucius on the rumbled bed so he can pace away, anger clawing at his insides like a caged feral thing and magic stifling the room.

As soon as he tries to stand straight from laying him down, Lucius cries out in denial and clings, fingers clawing at clothes and skin alike to maintain a grip, weak as it is. A vice squeezes around his heart and lungs, sympathy suffocating him, as he hates to see his betrothed suffer so. Tears have even appeared in those gorgeous blue eyes, panic present in their depths.

“Don't leave me, don't leave me,” Lucius whispers vehemently, the first coherent words he has uttered in hours. “Please, m'lord, 'm sorry. Please don't leave me.”

“I'm not leaving you, dear heart,” Hadrian swears, cajoling, easing him back to the bed. “You need rest, and I need to stretch my legs a bit. I won't go far, I promise.”

“Take me with you,” Lucius pleads, moving his legs to the edge of the bed as though to swing them off the side and stand up. “Please my love, don't leave me behind. I can go with you. I'll be good. I'll do or be whatever you want.”

His heart and intestines do a funny little thing inside at the use of an endearment, and that one in particular. Thus far, he has been the only one to employ them, and this one is as close to an “I love you” he has ever received from Lucius, and he wants to hear more of it, but when Lucius is well and actually conscious of what he is saying.

“Just because you haven't doesn't mean you won't, and you said yourself that you have the means to do whatever you please,” Snape snaps, his expression thunderous. Lucius' pleas only seem to infuriate him more. “You hold all the power here, and my friend is a victim to your whims.”

“So you'll condemn me for something I haven't done, have never indicated I ever would do, and thus impede the progress we could be making to save him instead. You are wasting precious time and energy with your own stupidity and unfounded notions.” It's a harsh snap, one out of character for the son of the Dark Lord and which makes Rabastan's spine go ramrod stiff.

Lucius makes a distressed cry, ragged nails digging into Hadrian's skin. Snape makes an aborted move as if to go to his side, but Rabastan flicks his wand, a wordless spell preventing him from getting very far.

“I think your behavior is putting undue stress on our current predicament, and our patient,” the Dark Lord says with that deadly drawl that has struck fear into the souls of stronger men. “You are dismissed until further notice, Mr. Snape.”

“My Lord, I—”

“You have done quite enough, I think,” Voldemort cut him off, his face made of stone and his eyes of hot coals and icy tundra simultaneously. “And you have been warned once already, within the same day, even. My son is far more tolerant than I, and had he not been, you would have been eradicated from existence at the first hint of disrespect or accusation. Furthermore, your inability to separate your emotions from the situation regardless of the personal stake in the patient presented is a detriment to your craft as Potions Master and will be your downfall. Your services and insight have been appreciated, but you have outlived your welcome at this time. Rabastan?”

“You got it, boss,” the younger Lestrange brother says, moving forward. He herds a protesting Snape out, and Gavid, their oldest and strictest House Elf, takes over to escort the sullen man beyond Riddle Manor's wards.

“I am sorry, Da,” Hadrian says quietly, trying to come down from the slippery slope of his anger. He has managed to calm Lucius, settling on the edge of the bed. The blond head has shuffled over to press against Hadrian's hip, fingers still coiled in his clothing but less desperately so. His breathing is a little faster and labored than it had been.

“You need not apologize, my son. You conducted yourself well and far better than I were I in your place.” The Dark Lord smooths out his robes over his lap, his own ire subsiding with the removal of the cause. “This is a stressful situation for us all, you and young Malfoy more than the rest. Foundless accusations have no place here. If Mr. Snape did not have so much potential, I would be ending the apprenticeship as well. Had he been anyone else with even a mite less potential, and I wouldn't hesitate.”

Hadrian nods, somewhat put at ease. As much as Snape had angered him, he is relieved to know his fiancé's best friend would still have a future once Da allows him to return and resume the apprenticeship, although that will likely take a few weeks at least.

One hand comes up to rub over his face and hair in frustration. A heavy sigh escapes him.

The fact of the matter remains that Lucius still needs treatment, and apparently sex. His heart breaks for Lucius, and he wishes they had found him even a day earlier. Maybe that would have enough time to prevent the use of these blasted potions. Gentle fingertips ghost over silvery strands. Hazy blue eyes flicker up to gaze at him, trust within those crystalline depths.

Staring down into such pretty orbs, he can't help but admire their beauty, despite how ill their owner still is. Pale lashes flutter as Hadrian strokes the side of the blond's attractive face, traces delicately over plump lips and straight nose. Caught by their silver-blue hues once more, a new though sparks, and Hadrian looks back up at his father, who seems content watching their quiet, tender interactions.

“Da, do you think you could use Legilimency to simulate the effects of the Clarity of Mind potion? Just long enough for us to explain to Lucius what is going on and ask how he would like to proceed?”

Voldemort is quiet for a few moments, deliberating. His gaze is intent as he stares at Lucius, who seems to sense the attention he is receiving and rolls over to acknowledge the Dark Lord. They hold eye contact for a minute. Then the blond sighs, a soft puff of breath, quite clearly still exhausted despite the rest he has had throughout the day.

“I do not think it is outside the realm of possibility,” Hadrian's father finally remarks, musing to himself. “It will be interesting to try something new. You always have such intriguing ideas, my son.”

He rises from his seat. Rabastan continues to stand by, off to the right of the others in the room, while the Dark Lord takes long-legged strides to stand next to the bed. His magic gathers around him. “Get him upright and keep him calm while I enter his mind.”

Nodding, Hadrian draws Lucius up to sit, propping his back with his own chest, giving him a bit of a cuddle in the process; it aids in keeping Lucius calm and acquiescent while feeding his need for physical contact. In fact, he seems happy enough to do whatever asked as long as Hadrian is touching him.

“Keep your eyes open and on Da as long as you can, my lovely,” Hadrian urges, his tone almost a coaxing coo.

Voldemort gently but firmly uses a finger and thumb on Lucius' chin to keep his head steady and tilted the way he needs. Hadrian's hand curls around the underside of Lucius' jaw to help support his head. Hadrian can feel the moment his father delves into his fiancé's mind. The shift in magic tells the story of a smooth transition and impeccable control. Steady hands soothingly run up and down the blond's arms and ribs, keeping him grounded. The Healer's magic warmly envelops him, radiating affection and reassurance while his father delves into and manipulates his mind and body.

It only takes a few minutes, five at most. He knows it probably felt far longer to Lucius, as most mind magics can mess with one's natural perception of time. Da eases back form his forward-leaning crouch, and Lucius' back stiffens, sitting under his own power now.

“I've done my best to replicate what you asked of me,” the Dark Lord declares as he reclaims his seat. “I can't be certain of how long it will last, however. I'd say at least an hour, but hopefully we can manage a full two.”

“What happened?” Lucius blurts out, bewildered and understandably disconcerted. “Why do I feel so terrible? My memory gets so blurry after the Lestrange Brothers brought me here...”

Hadrian adjuts his position so he can see Lucius' face a little better. H etugs his hand up to the kiss the back of it, grateful to see the intelligence back in those beautiful eyes. He and Da proceed to summarize the most recent events and discoveries to the best of their abilities, especially what they know of his current physical condition, their theories, and what limited options they have now.

Lucius listens with rapt attention. His fingers remain linked with Hadrian's, maintaining that contact as if his sanity depends on it. Thankfully, he doesn't five in to hysterics—although he has every right to. Even so, the betrayal he feels is written all over his face. Hadrian can only imagine the true depth of what he is feeling, to be betrayed by someone who was meant to love and care for him for eternity, to be forced to go through a body transformation and set up to be used and raped, all because Lucius wanted to spend his life with someone he'd always been promised to in the first place. All because he dared to say no for the first time in his life to his father.

“So I have no real options here,” Lucius says finally, drooping in despairing defeat. “Unless you find a cure, or something to at least mitigate the symptoms, I'm doomed to a life as a sex slave.”

“You are not doomed to be a sex slave. You are going to be my husband, and therefore will only need to ever have sex with me. I'd like to think we can please each other enough that you won't think of it as a chore.” Hadrian tries not to feel defensive or hurt by these implication, keeping in mind how hard this had to be for Lucius.

“Hadrian's main concern right now is your consent,” Voldemort says, cutting into whatever reply the blond might have made. “We also need to know if you want to perform the engagement ceremony, or go straight to the bonding ritual, before the walls I set up in your mind so you can be lucid for a limited amount of time shatter, and you have no ability to make your own decisions.”

“Yes,” Lucius says instantly. “I want to bond immediately. We've been betrothed and have done all the correct requirements of Courtship without it being publicly official in the eyes of society. I want to bond before I lose my mind, and so that no one can take me from Hadrian again.” His fingers white-knuckle clutch Hadrian's, and he returns the grasp as firmly.

Tension releases, anxiety assuaged. He had thought, perhaps irrationally so, for a minute there that maybe this would be the end of their relationship. He resists kissing his hand again, instead stroking his side affectionately.

“We will make it so,” Voldemort declares, standing once more with purpose in his gaze, determination in his shoulders. “We will gather enough witnesses to satisfy Lady Magic immediately. Rabastan, please gather our most loyal and the Black sisters.”

“What of Snape?”

“He may attend, but I do not wish to hear anything out of him.” Hadrian's tone is icy, gaze hard.

“I apologize for his poor conduct,” Lucius murmurs, petting the back of Hadrian's hand with the fingers of his free one. “And the insults lodged against you.”

“You are not responsible for his actions. He made his choices.”

“What of the required familial representative?” Rabastan askes in the middle of sending multiple Patronuses. “We cannot allow Malfoy Sr. to attend for obvious reasons.”

“His mother's portrait will suffice,” Hadrian decided after a moment's thought. He stands as his father takes his leave to start putting their plans into motion. “I can use the Hallows to make her presence more tangible for the magic of the ceremony.”

“What do I wear?” Lucius inquires, a sad expression flitting across his features. “The robes I'd planned on wearing are no longer appropriate and likely won't fit me at any rate, if Father hasn't disposed of them in my absence.” He gestures half-heartedly at his new, feminine curves.

“Cousin Narcissa and Andromeda will help you, my love.” Hadrian leans over and presses a gentle kiss to his temple. “I will leave you with Mipsy and Penny to prepare, and Cissy will be with you shortly. I will see you at the ceremony, dearest heart.”

Chapter Text

The Muggles would call it a shotgun wedding, even though pregnancy out of wedlock is not their primary motivation here. For being so quickly put together, the bonding ceremony turns out to be rather lovely, especially when the women get involved.

The Dark Lord's most loyal stand attending. Tiberius Nott stands with a sullen Snape in the back, ensuring the man's good behavior. The Lestranges and many of the Black family are scattered throughout. Da stands beside Hadrian for his part of the ceremony, and Lady Medusa Malfoy in her Resurrection Stone augmented portrait, elegant and proud as she gazes upon her son, is held upright by Barty Crouch, Jr. close by on Lucius' side of the altar. Barty Crouch, Sr. officiates.

Narcissa and Andromeda had truly outdone themselves outfitting Lucius in clothes that would conceal his new curves without appearing too bulky, a bra to support his new breasts comfortably, and a truly lovely set of pale blue robes with embroidered silver swirls and feathers; as suspected, the robes he had chosen for himself prior to Hadrian's birthday had been viciously destroyed by Abraxas. Lucius' hair is unbraided and straightened, held back with a navy blue ribbon at the base of his neck, pieces loose in the front to frame his face.

Hadrian is dressed in black trousers and matching button-down with silver buttons, and a set of dark green robes with embroidery that matches Lucius'—Narcissa had insisted. Andromeda had also taken the time to style his ebony curls to perfection, complaining that they aren't long enough to tie back but handsome all the same.

They exchange their engagement tokens before the ceremony—Lucius smiling over the sapphire and diamond ring slid onto his finger and Hadrian proudly displaying a hand-crafted gold amulet about his neck.

Lucius smiles the whole time, seeming to be genuinely happy, hands held in Hadrian's as they perform the ritual vows; the magic around them swells and strengthens as they combine and tie their lives together, pulsing, and permeates the room, ruffling their hair like the wind or the hand of an affectionate mother.

Thankfully, it is the magic from those attending, and especially the blood relatives representing them, that is required, not the magic form those being bonded together. Otherwise, Lucius would have suffered with his already depleted core. Once the bond is complete, Hadiran's magic easily spills into Lucius' core, like water from an overflowing pitcher to an almost empty glass.

Even though it was assembled and planned on the shortest of notices, it is a beautiful event, and Hadrian could not have been happier now that they are finally bound together, irrevocably. A lifelong goal finally fulfilled.

They power through the ceremony without being too hasty but linger through that first kiss, tasting each other and sharing breath and love, committing it all to memory and heedless of their guests.

Hadrian takes a private pleasure in feeling that burning gaze of Lucius' friend drilling into the side of his face.

Although he would have liked to just keep kissing his new husband, his bride, his partner, they have to part eventually to finish the rest of the ritual.

They blaze through the professional photo-shoot performed by Andromeda's “taboo” Muggleborn husband Edward “Ted” Tonks—an intelligent, charismatic neutral party, who Hadrian had befriended and therefore gifted immunity from Da's blood purist followers—for their own wedding album and to provide the papers with the official announcement of their long-awaited union. There is the celebratory first dance, and the House Elves truly outdid themselves with the savory dinner provided.

The Dark Lord had used an experimental kind of stasis charm on the Legilimency version of the Clarity of Mind potion so they could be ensured of the completion of the ritual, but even that only guaranteed a full three hours before Lucius would go back to the impaired condition he had been in prior. He'd also put a sort of an alarm system so that if the spells began to deteriorate, his magic would alert him, hopefully with at least a fifteen minute warning so they can get somewhere safe and out of the eye of the public.

When Hadrian catches sight of the subtle gesture from his father, he says his farewells and collects his new husband from his conversation with a tipsy, giggling Bellatrix. He makes sure to have Mrs. Malfoy's portrait safely tucked into a space in the Manor, and he releases her from the influence of the Resurrection Stone so there is no risk of negatively impacting the magic imbuing the portrait.

He guides Lucius back to his rooms, and the blond follows along without a word of protest. Once inside, door securely locked and privacy wards ensuring reinforced safety measures as well as immaculate soundproofing, he cradles his husband's face in his hands and draws him into a deep, languid kiss.

“One more time, lovely,” he mutters between kisses, feeling delicate fingers wrap around his forearms as Lucius kisses back just as fervently. “One more time. Tell me you want this, that you want this with me.”

“You're all I've ever wanted, Hadrian,” Lucius swears. A faint blush crosses his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. “You're the only one I've ever dreamed of. I want you to take me, all of me, consummate our union, and solidify our bond. I saved myself for you, and I want you to collect.” He presses his slender body closer to Hadrian, leaning in for more kisses.

Hadrian eagerly meets his lips. Tongue and teeth deploy to explore and tease, drawing more pleasure from Lucius. A fire lights in his chest at the confirmation of Lucius' fidelity, an undeniable turn-on and declaration of devotion.

His magic acts with a mind of its own, melting their clothes from their bodies and neatly folding it all for later. It leaves them only in the jewelry they wear—their respective Heirship rings, the amulet around Hadrian's neck, and the sapphire ring on Lucius' finger. Lucius shivers in his sudden nudity, but he doesn't shy away like Hadrian thought he might. He wonders how much of this is Lucius and how much is the effect of the potions, but he doesn't dwell on it, doesn't let the notion taint their first union.

“I want you to show me it's okay,” Lucius whispers almost desperately against his lips, fingers dancing over Hadrian's slightly darker skin and harder muscle tone. “That this body is just as attractive as the one I was born in.”

Hadrian had already said as much, but he supposes it is always harder to believe until something is put into practice. Actions often speak louder than words. “You tell me if something makes you unhappy or uncomfortable or scares you.”

Lucius nods wordlessly, his skin flushed a delightful pink despite the chill in the room; in the bedroom, the fireplace flares to life to ward off that chill with barely a thought. The light crystals dim to accommodate the new illumination so the rooms aren't too bright. Hadrian walks them backwards toward the bed, large hands stroking delicate flesh, smooth skin.

“You've always been so beautiful, Lucius,” Hadrian murmurs, one hand gliding over his back. “Utterly entrancing, drawing every eye.” That hand squeezes a delightfully plump buttock. His other hand cups one of Lucius' breasts, testing the weight, thumbing the pink nipple. It pebbles up immediately, beading and hardening, as if begging for more attention, more stimulation. “I've always tried not to leer, so answer me this, my dear: has your bum always been this magnificent, or is it yet another new feature?”

Lucius blushes, embarrassed at the language he has never heard from Hadrian. He reaches back and down, feeling over his own derriere. He bites his lip. “No it...feels about right. Maybe a little softer, and my hips are definitely different... But the butt is right.”

The ebony-haired wizard hums, pleased with the reply. More kisses are exchanged, bodies pressed close and greedy for contact between them both. Grasping hands and groping fingers, clinging lips and voracious tongues. Their lust pulses and pulls at each other, give and take, ebb and flow, swallowing them each in equal measures. Their love rushes to and from them, as if they are made of the same wire with the same energy looping round and round, growing stronger with every full cycle it makes.

“I'm going to make you feel so good, my lovely,” Hadrian promises, breathing the words hot and heavy into Lucius' mouth, licking at kiss swollen lips.

The hand on Lucius' breast slides down to grasp Lucius' second buttock. He squeezes both, relishing in the cute little squeak the pretty, cultured blond lets out. Then he lifts a bit, dragging Lucius' naked body up the length of his equally nude torso until his breasts are high enough that all Hadrian has to do is dip his head forward and down the slightest bit to catch those pretty nipples between his lips.

This time, Lucius moans, seemingly involuntarily. One of his hands braces on Hadrian's shoulder, but the other raises to cover his mouth in an attempt to muffle his moans.

Hadrian doesn't bother correcting him. He doesn't know too much about what he's doing, as virginal as Lucius unless one counts the hands-off research he has done on the specifics of homosexual relations, or the stories he has overheard from his randier peers. He knows the mechanics and the theories of what to except, but it's not the same as hands-on experience to draw from.

They will learn along the way together.

Lips and tongue tease the hardened nub. He suckles, enjoying the softness of his lover's skin, the subtle flavor of it, the plushness of the mammary flesh. His fingers knead the globes in his palms, and he sucks more of the perky tit into his mouth while his tongue swirls senseless patterns around the nipple. He hums as his cock fills with blood, stiffening and throbbing between his legs. He croons as Lucius shudders in his arms.

Wetness trickles down his stomach, and he inhales sharply. Lucius is dripping for him. His new pussy has warmed and moistened, and slick is dewing up and dribbling onto Hadrian's hot flesh while he works on pleasuring his new husband.

It's the most arousing thing he has ever experienced.

He wants more of it.

Hadrian pops off the breast he has been tormenting and lavishing with attention, and he puffs a soft breath over it to watch the nipple draw a little tighter again. He toys the tip of his tongue over it teasingly. Sparkling emerald eyes flick up to catch sight of Lucius' flushed face and hazed-over pale baby-blues. Delicate fingers have found their way into ebony curls, clinging for dear life while their owner submits to the stronger man's amorous ministrations.

“You're so damned pretty,” Hadrian proclaims in a reverent tone, pressing a light kiss to Lucius' sternum. Lucius shakes his head, embarrassed and in denial, and Hadrian simply won't have that. “You are and always have been the most beautiful man I've ever laid eyes on, and I know for a fact that many of our peers have lusted after you. Merlin's beard, I held Goyle Senior under Cruciatus for three full minutes when I caught him jerking off over your photograph in our yearbook, muttering about wrapping your hair around his wrist to hold you in place while he fucked your throat. For once, my father was the one to exercise restraint when I couldn't.”

He'd been absolutely furious, downright livid, that the fat, ugly slob dared to fantasize over his fiancé, his beloved, let alone do it so blatantly in the same room as Hadrian, like a filthy degenerate pig. He never let the man forget the lesson. Even now, the man quakes in his presence.

Lucius' breath hitches. One of his legs lifts to hook over Hadrian's hip. “You did that for me?” he whispers, reverent, eyes bright with lust and something almost feral.

“I'd do anything for you,” Hadrian replies. His hands shift to grasp each shapely thigh and bring both of them up around his waist. Then he changes grip again to start rocking Lucius' hips, grinding his hot, wet cunt against his stomach, smearing the fluid across his skin. Mewls and gasps pour forth, and when Lucius' head drops back, his own surges forward to lock lips on the exposed throat.

“Please, Hadrian,” Lucius pleads, hips moving on their own volition now, following the rhythm. Hadrian had started with his hands. “I want you in me so bad. Want you deep, claiming every part of me.”

“You belong to me,” Hadrian rasps, voice graveled with possessiveness and lust, lips not leaving the now purple mark on Lucius' neck. He turns on his heels and drops forward, taking them down to the bed. “Every bit of you. Every last breath in your lungs and beat of your heart, just as all of mine belongs to you.”

“Yes...yes, I want it. I want it all.” He arches his back, gasping, all pretty skin and hot flesh, blue eyes and silvery blond hair. Sweet moans pour from him as he presses up into Hadrian's every touch. “Give me everything...”

“It's all for you. You're the only one I have ever wanted to give it to.”

Hadrian lifts himself up on one arm, his other dropping down between then. The gold amulet hangs down from his neck and swings gently between them, nearly touching Lucius' soft body beneath him. Questing fingers dip past a semi-hard cocklet to weeping pussylips, and he easily finds the little nub that makes Lucius arch and gasp and squirm. He torments it with eagerly rubbing fingertips, the heel of his palm pressing to his lover's shrunken prick, with a single-minded focus aimed at bringing mindblowing pleasure and drawing more pretty sounds from his bride.

Lucius' hips shimmy and dance. Blunt, newly-manicured nails bite into Hadrian's broad shoulders, and little furrows of fire sting across his flesh in the best way as those kitten claws drag along his skin in the throes of ecstasy. Their breaths come in hot, de-synced pants, sweat dappling their skin and glistening the low firelight.

The Dark Lord's son only lets up when he sees how close Lucius is to climax. Lightening the pressure to the scantest caress, he watches Lucius calm down the slightest bit, hips stilling without the relentless weight and tension driving him insane. Those fingers adventure further down. They map the folds and delicate petals that make up Lucius' feminine genitalia, stroking and learning every crease and plump contour while Lucius steadily loses his mind.

Hadrian gasps in surprise, then groans loudly in bliss, when a soft hand suddenly encircles his manhood, which he had been successfully ignoring in favor of exploring and savoring every morsel and inch of his husband's exquisite body. His arousal surges, burning higher like fueled flame, and he drops his head to drag Lucius into a deep, messy kiss.

Of course, by now, Lucius is confident enough to respond with enthusiasm, doing his best to give just as good as he gets. His tongue moves to meet the other's, and his free arm raises to curve around Hadrian's broad shoulders, fingers playing in the curls at the base of his neck.

“You're driving me mad,” Hadrian accuses, nipping at his husband's plump lips. A sharp smack to Lucius' flank causes him to yelp and moan, jolting. A dark brown quirks up in interest, and a wicked smile curves his lips. “Oh, that's something we should explore later, my naughty boy.” Who knew sweet, innocent Lucius might have a spanking kink? Maybe even a mild pain kink? Was Lucius a closet masochist?

Lucius bites his lip, stroking and caressing Hadrian's cock with an inexperienced hand, although it's no less blissful in its ministrations. Unable to help himself, the darker wizard's hips rock into the paler one's touch, panting softly, almost mindless with ecstasy as his brain synapses misfire.

It seems to embolden Lucius, boosting his confidence, his grip changing just a little, firmer and more eager to please as it pups hot, turgid flesh. The actions grow slicker and smoother as precum drips from the tip and is spread around the shaft as those fingers move.

“I'm going to get you nice and loose,” Hadrian whispers heatedly in Lucius' ear, trailing his tongue over the reddened shell. “And then I'm going to fuck your tight little ass that I've fantasized about since I learned what sex was. Then, if either of us can stand to move, I'm going to fuck your pretty, new cunt. How does that sound?”

“Yes! Oh yes, please, Hadrian, I want that. I want all of that so much.” Lucius seems to have well and truly succumbed to the influence of the aphrodisiac, turning into a burning, writhing thing of pleasure and desire, mewling as he feverishly touches all he can reach, wanking Hadrian's phallus like he is afraid he'll go soft or change his mind if Lucius stops for even a second.

Grinning, excited and elated and so bloody hard and aroused he can barely think straight, Hadrian drops a hand down to press fingers to the wrinkled skin of Lucius' back entrance. Lucius squirms and spreads his legs as wide as he can get them in his current position. Wordlessly, magic swirls and applies itself to loosen the virgin sphincter so it's soft and pliable. It lubricates the waiting channel beyond the outer skin and Vanishes away the wastes from the colon and lower intestine, ensuring the blond is all wet and clean inside.

In a flash of brief but fierce pettiness, he hopes the magic drops said wastes on or around Abraxas Malfoy in his cell. It would serve him right, and make the arrogant Pureblood wizard incredibly miserable, to suddenly and inexplicably—to him, anyway—be covered in unknown excrement, or at the very least be near and forced to smell it, with no way to remove it, as he would have surely been bound with magic-suppressing cuffs, just like he'd forced on his son.

Lucius easily brings Hadrian's attention back to the here and now when a particular twist of his pelvis has two of Hadrian's testing fingers sinking into his prepared rectum. He shudders and moans, back arching, even though they haven't sunk in all that far. Hadrian groans, entranced with the sight, head dipping to steal more kisses as he buries those digits as far as they'll go and rubs over slick walls, swirling the gel-like lubrication around inside. Even with the preparation spells, Lucius' walls are still so tight and warm, a lovely haven to accept whatever Hadrian gives it.

Before they go any further, in a moment of clarity, Hadrian whispers a contraceptive spell with enough power behind it that if should last for at least the next twenty-four hours, maybe a little longer if they are lucky. He makes a mental note to make sure Lucius takes the longer-lasting, more effective monthly contraceptive potion once he is well enough for it.

Maneuvering him carefully, Hadrian turns Lucius over, drawing him up to elbows and knees. Elegant back artfully arched, ass in the air. A gentle tug has the ribbon sliding free and all that thick silver-blond tumbling down, cascading all around him like silk. Lucius stays in his assigned position, but he turns his head, tossing his hair out of the way to see better, blue eyes locking on Hadrian's face. With a little wiggle of his hips, he spreads his thighs just a bit wider, offering himself up to his husband, wordlessly and willingly, desire like flames in his gaze.

Hadrian grasps Lucius by the hips and lifts up on his own knees, lining his cock up. The blunt head of the stiff prick bumps against the dusky rose hole, causing Lucius to twitch in anticipation, a shiver rippling across his skin. The flesh of his ass molds and pillows between greedy fingers, plush and tantalizing with its soft thickness. Lucius whines and wiggles the tiniest bit, and the juicy globes wobble and jiggle under an emerald gaze. Hadrian's erection throbs and dribbles more precum, thick and pearly.

He pushes in, watching the pink little hole greedily gobble up his reddened, pulsing phallus. He gasps as the tight orifice envelops him, and he sinks so easily in until he is pressed flush and tight to those plump cheeks, balls deep. Lucius practically wails, head thrown back and hair tossed wildly, pleasure dancing in every line of his pretty form, overtaken with the pressure of impalement and the rapture of being claimed and taken.

“Salazar, you're perfect, Lucius,” Hadrian swears, grinding himself in place, licking suddenly dry lips to wet them. “How do you feel, my lovely? Are you okay? Do you need a break?” Gods above, he hopes not. He doesn't know how he'll find the strength to pull out and stop. He wants to start jackhammering until they both find release, but he keeps still aside from the firm press of his hips to soft, fat flesh.

“No, keep going,” Lucius implores, his voice a mewl, rocking himself back. “You feel so amazing inside me, Hadrian. Please, I need more.”

Not waiting to hear more, Hadrian takes a firm grip, withdraws as much as he dares, and slams back in, their bodies meeting with a satisfying noise and a burst of ecstasy. Immediately, he feels breathless, overwhelmed with the tight, wet heat surrounding him, massaging around his steel-hard, sensitive pole of flesh. It takes no time and very little effort to lose himself in the feel and the rhythm of his own movements. He drinks in every sensation, revels in every sound, and stares with rapt attention at his gorgeous husband.

Lucius moans and whimpers and rocks back in time with Hadrian's threats, as if he'd been doing this for years. His insides clench and massage rhythmically around the thick, long, pistoning cock impaling him, stirring him up, carving out a permanent home just for Hadrian with dogged determination. He is all the more beautiful for it, skin flushed from head to his trim waist, rosy and dappled with sweat.

Another toss of that hair has tanned fingers burying in thick, silken strands. They twine and tug on them until Lucius cries out, arching his back and going up to his hands from his elbows to accommodate the sting in his scalp.

Hadrian bends over his husband's back to mouth along his neck, biting carefully in a sensitive spot. The hand groping at the jiggling curves of Lucius' ass and thighs moves to cup and squeeze one of Lucius' swaying, bouncing breasts instead.

“I need more hands just so I can grope all the parts of you,” Hadrian rasps in Lucius' ear, biting down on the lobe and flicking his tongue over the trapped flesh. His hips pound harder, balls swinging up to smack the soaked petals of Lucius' cunt over and over while Lucius trembles and cries from the stimulation.

“Bet you'd like that, wouldn't you, lovely?” Hadrian continues, pinching and rolling Lucius' sensitive nipple, tugging and lightly slapping, just to draw out more of those delicious sounds. “Half a dozen hands all over you, forcing you to feel everything all at once. Forcing you to just take and take until you can't anymore. You want to be center of attention, don't you? You crave it, little social butterfly flaunting his wings, his beauty.”

“Only you, My Lord, my love,” Lucius gasps, reaching back blindly to awkwardly grasp the back of Hadrian's thigh, squeezing the flexing, toned muscle. “I only want you, Hadrian, my husband. Only your attention is worth anything to me. Your attention, your touch, your time, your trust, your love. Give it all to me, my love. Fill me up with everything you have to give.” His breath comes in shallow pants, and he moves his feet to hook his ankles over the backs of Hadrian's calves, further locking him in place, as if to prevent him from dislodging and leaving.

As if he would ever try to get away.

Something close to a growl gravels its way out of Hadrian's throat. Everything feels like too much all of a sudden, and his hips stutter with the strength of the orgasm that overtakes him without warning. He practically roars, slamming himself as deep as he can, and he is only vaguely aware that he sends them both flat on the bed, crushing Lucius' convulsing body beneath his heavier one as the blond climaxes, too, accepting all of Hadrian's weight, and all of his spend pumping deep into his bowels. He curls his free arm across the front of Lucius' shoulders, burying his face into the back of his neck, nose in soft hair.

As full awareness returns to him, Hadrian discovers in increments that his hips are still mindlessly moving, although in gyrating motions rather than thrusting ones, lazy and instinctive, and Lucius is weakly trying to match these movements. Carefully, he untangles his fingers from silken tresses. Pressing tender kisses to Lucius' shoulder blade, he debates pulling out and moving, or just staying inside his husband and falling asleep this way. Both ideas have merit; both would make him equally happy.

His cock is still hard, he realizes. He really shouldn't waste the erection, especially since his spouse quite literally needs sex for survival.

Once his limbs feel more like solid appendages than jellified blobs, Hadrian lifts himself off Lucius' back, pulling out of his clinging, sperm-sloppy rectum. Ignoring Lucius' whine of protest, he sits back on his heels and spreads open the luscious globes so he can observe his husband's gape. The rim is red from the abuse, stretched wide and smeared with cum and lube. Before his eyes, the hold clenches and unclenches weakly, trying to close on nothing, and Hadrian smirks, poking his thumbs in and stretching the messy sphincter open wider.

Leaning forward, he snakes his tongue out to taste the used hole. Musky skin, salty bitter sperm, and something sweet that he guesses is the lube flavor Lucius' entrance. The blond mewls and tries to press up into Hadrian's face, chasing more sensation, but the scent of Lucius' dripping cunt catches his attention instead.

Hadrian turns Lucius over as if he weights nothing, as if he spends all day just lifting and tossing pretty men just like him. It surprises him, too, but the startled arousal on Lucius' face is worth Hadrian's own vague confusion.

“How are you feeling, my lovely?” Hadrian asks in a croon, affection swelling in his chest as he gazes down on the man he'll be spending the rest of his life with. His hands slide up and down spread, faintly trembling thighs, grabbing and squeezing here and there in no definitive pattern.

“Good,” Lucius says, a little breathless, voice a little raspy from his near constant cries and moans. “Really, really good... You felt amazing inside me, Hadrian.” He smiles, looking a little intoxicated, as if he'd had just a bit too much wine when in reality he had barely a few sips during dinner, and that was easily an hour ago. “Can I have more?”

“Oh? One round not enough for you?” Hadrian teases, even as his cock twitches with arousal and sinful interest. “Are you a greedy baby, Lucius? Is that what I'm hearing?”

“Yes, please, one round isn't enough, and I'm your greedy baby,” the blond whispers, and he moves, lifting his hips in an effort to entice, pussy glistening with wetness, appearing to quiver with need. “I need you everywhere, Hadrian, please.”

“You beg so prettily.” Hadrian leans up and over, pressing gentle, nibbling kisses to the blond's plump lips. “Gorgeous boy, so sweet for me. I want to eat you all up.” His hands drift back to the blond's chest, once again cupping and kneading those sweet, full breasts.

A perhaps insidious thought crosses his mind. As wrong as it may seem, he hopes they can't return Lucius to his old body. This body is a veritable wonderland, and he'd miss these gorgeous tits of his. He would have loved Lucius no matter the form he came in, but he can't deny that he has quickly become rather attaches to the perks of this one.

Lucius coils his arms around Hadrian, pressing himself close. Their tongues slide sensually against one another, caressing within their mouths in a filthy dance.

“So pretty, my love,” Hadrian murmurs again. He hopes Lucius never tires of it, for as often as he wants to say it. It bears repeating, especially when Lucius turns all cute and shy hearing it, flushed with a bashful blush. He deserves to know how attracted to him his husband is, after all.

“Thank you, husband,” Lucius whispers, a little shy despite the things they've already done so far. It's endearing. He shifts his body, trying to place his lower body in Hadrian's lap, lips trailing along his jaw and neck in open-mouthed kisses. “You set me aflame, My Lord,” he whispers, sending tingles down Hadrian's spine. “Please, claim m pussy like you did my ass. All of my holes are for your pleasure. I want to feel you long after you have left my body...”

Without thought, Hadrian's fingers dive for the drenched lips of his pretty cunt. The fluid here is layered, pooling under their bodies in a puddle, and he swirls it around, deliberately messy as he traces his husband's most special place. His thumb applies steady pressure to Lucius' slightly swollen clitoris, rubbing in gentle circles this time, while two digits slowly push into the tight clasp of his virginal hole.

Lucius gasps and moans, arching and tilting his hips to press those digits deeper. His legs hook around Hadrian's body again, trying to drag him closer, to keep him from pulling back. His arms and hands cling even tighter. Plush lips suck a mark in the dip of a tanned collarbone. The rocking of his own body essentially has him fucking himself on Hadrian's fingers while Hadrian watches. Hadrian's cock throbs, harder than ever, aching to plunge into the willing body before him—that warm, wet cavern flexing around his fingers—spurred on by the wet, lewd noises coming from the lovely entrance and the needy sounds the blond makes.

“No lube necessary for this hole,” Hadrian pants, trying to tease through the wonder curling around his throat. “Merlin, you're so wet and ready, lovely. So delightfully tight with just the right amount of give.”

“No more teasing please,” Lucius gasps, practically trying to climb Hadrian's body to get what he so clearly wants, craves.

“All right, pretty thing, all right.” He grabs a mound of pillows to help prop and cushion Lucius, crooning at the unhappy wail when he has to remove his fingers from the tightly clasping cunt to do so. He hushes them softly, rearranging their bodies utnil he can get his cock aimed at the puffy, pink, sopping pussy.

Breaching Lucius' vaginal canal with a slow press is a much wetter but no less sensual experience. He groan deep in his chest and continues sliding in, feeling Lucius' muscles flutter and clench and suction around him. Gods, he absolutely is made for this. For the umpteenth time tonight, Hadrian feels grateful for the good fortune of being the one to be permanently bound to such a delightful trollop wrapped up in a pretty, Pureblood package.

Unable to resist for long, he draws his lover into a series of numerous kisses, alternating in intensity—soft, and hard, and sweet, and something akin to a ravenous beast feasting on its last meal—and interrupted only by the sweet moans and sighs that escape both of them. It's a struggle to keep up any sort of rhythm, so awash with bliss and the scent of their joining, the sounds of their bodies meeting and sliding each other.

Deciding to take his time this round, although he doubts he'll last for very long in any event, just like the first round—maybe he'll last longer if he only because of the first orgasm taking that desperate edge off—Hadrian pauses in his pelvic thrusts so he can scoop his arms under Lucius' body. He turns them over so he is the one nestled into the pile of pillows, Lucius atop him and quite disoriented by the change in position and placement. He smiles up at him and rolls his hips up, slow and languid, enjoying the negligible weight perching over him.

The glide is smooth and intoxicating. Pale lashes flutter as blue eyes roll up into their sockets for a moment, and a long, helpless moan spills from his lips; he drapes himself across Hadrian as if he has no bones to support him, to strength in his muscles to hold him up.

Hadrian thinks he rather likes this position. All of that soft skin is pressed up close and personal, and every thrust sends Lucius sliding up and then dropping back down, a full-body caress that requires Lucius to make zero effort. The cascade of platinum hair creates a silken curtain around them, the strands adding their own sort of caress to the mix, a constant stimulation that makes Hadrian feel like his skin is buzzing nonstop, liquid fire coursing through his veins, his mind sparking with every new stimulus.

Lucius seems to enjoy it just as much. His arms wrap around to rub hands up and down Hadrian's ribs, over and over in a mindless rhythm, thumbs occasionally flicking over his nipples, which appear to be less sensitive than Lucius' but still perk up from the touch. He mouths over Hadrian's neck and shoulder, teasing that hickey he'd already left on the collarbone, making another one just below and to the right of it. He squeaks when Hadrian playfully swats at his ass, but he wiggles to get more contact, any contact, a second later. The thrusting, sliding cock inside him shifts around his cunt and forces out even louder moans that Hadrian echoes with the shifting of caress on his sensitive phallus.

The heat and pleasure of their reverie swells and ebbs, changing an adapting, like the ever-moving waves of the ocean. They trade lazy kisses, clinging to one another, tongues twisting and rubbing against each other, slick and messy without a care in the world. Hadrian's hands keep a hold on Lucius' ass, using the grip to help rock the blond into his thrusts but also just enjoying the plush squish of his flesh between his fingers.

He can feel the warm vaginal fluids pooling on his pelvis and sliding down to drip off his balls, and the squelches that reach his ears drive him mad with lust. Unable to resist, he gives both juicy buttocks another slap at the same time, gripping them and shaking them in his hands immediately after so they wobble and jiggle and his husband jolts and squeals, cunt clamping down from the sudden sting and following fluctuation in movements.

“There are so many things I want to do to you, do with you,” Hadrian huffs in his lover's ear, nibbling the lobe again, tongue flicking and swirling. “Your body is stunning, my lovely. You fit me like glove, made just for me.”

“Only for you,” Lucius agrees, leaning his head in for more attention, anything Hadrian is willing to give. Hadrian responds by gently scraping his teeth along the long, elegant neck, one he intends to adorn with jewelry and lovebites in equal measures.

“Good. I don't share.” Here, he bites Lucius' pulse point, and Lucius clamps down on him, arching, and a burst of fluids splashing his abdomen signals the blond's newest orgasm.

Hadrian keeps driving into his husband in that slow, steady pace even as he mewls and squirms, oversensitive and needy, and tries to cling and wriggle away simultaneously. Two more swats to each asscheek makes him jolt and claw, but he doesn't try to escape anymore, panting harshly against Hadrian's ear.

“You going to make me come, too, pretty thing?” Hadrian teases, nibbling the blond's lower lip before fucking his tongue deep into his gasping mouth, reaching so far back that Lucius even gags a little from the tip brushing against his tonsils. He flicks his tongue until Lucius jerks back a smidge. “I think you should. I think you should stay planted right here in my lap until I've filled you up with my spend until you're dripping, until your belly is taut and swollen like when you had those potions filling you. I could do it, you know. It would only take a mild modification spell to make me come literal buckets worth. Use plugs to seal you up and make you carry it all with you, waddle around our rooms and even in the halls with your belly pregnant with my sperm.”

“Hadriannnnn...” Lucius utters on a drawn-out whine. Despite being oversensitive and worn out, his hips still rock to hump against Hadrian, milking Hadrian's throbbing, twitching, pulsating cock.

“That's not a no~” he singsongs, one hand leaving his ass to bury in long tresses, massaging his scalp while controlling the tilt of his head for a deeper kiss Lucius eagerly reciprocates.

“Anything you want,” the blond whispers back fervently after their kiss breaks, legs shaking around Hadrian's hips and thighs, tears glistening in his lashes, overwhelmed but determined to get Hadrian off again like the good little spouse he claims to want to be. “I'll do anything you want, Hadrian. Just want you happy. Want you happy, and to love me, and think only of me...”

“I want you happy, too, Lucius,” Hadrian vows, kissing the tears beading at the corners of his eyes before they can fall. His tongue swipes the salty moisture away, savoring the flavor. “I'm going to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as I possibly can. Even if it means keeping you attached to my pelvis every waking moment, although that's going to make treating patients and Death Eater meetings a bit difficult.”

Lucius giggles a little hysterically, even as his cunt clenches again. Shakily, he braces his hands on Hadrian's chest and pushes himself somewhat upright, and Hadrian hums in pleasure, eyes half-lidded as he takes in the beauty above him. His thrusts pause, and Lucius bites his lip as he shifts a bit, then raises his hips up. His body naturally clings and tugs at the rod impaling it, and Hadrian groans at the sensation. He drops back down, gasping, cunt squelching obscenely, and it takes him a few seconds before he tries again.

“Trying to ride me, my beauty?” Hadrian whispers with wonder, awe softening his voice. His hands switch to cradling Lucius' bouncing breasts, squeezing and kneading and teasing painfully hard nipples, flushed pink and almost glowing with the bliss already overtaking him.

“Wanna make you come...” Lucius gradually works himself up to a rhythm, eyes locked on Hadrian's face, breaths hitching now and then when the throbbing phallus bumps against any of his sensitive spots.

Hadrian feels enraptured, entranced, as he watches his lover. He is inexperienced, yes, as evidenced by the less than fluid movements, somewhat uncoordinated, and if Hadrian was one to care about such things or any less inexperienced than Lucius, the blond more than makes up for it in enthusiasm, passion overflowing, and his burning desire to please his partner.

One of Lucius' hands drifts down to pet his own abdomen, and hadrian can only guess that it's because of how deep his larger-than-average dick, must feel inside his newly deflowered pussy and womb. If he concentrates enough, he thinks he can even feel the head of his prick bumping against his cervix, like an internal kiss, and he wonders how much maneuvering he'd need to do to breach it. He barely catches Lucius' murmur, “Wanna feel you, wanna fee you deep deep deep...”

“Am I not deep enough now? Do you need a bigger cock fucking you, Lucius? Has my husband already turned into a size-queen after just one round?” He grins wickedly as he pokes fun, aware that isn't what his lover means, and he knows that the poor fucked-out blond won't catch the humor in his current state.

“N-no! You're so big, Hadrian, you feel so perfect inside me!” Lucius predictably scrambles to deny and declare in the same breath. His eyes go wide, pupils dark and blown out, devouring the blue of his irises so only a thin ring of color remains. “You're so good to me, husband, feel so big and deep and so so good!” He gasps and tries to pick up the pace, as if he thinks if he fucks himself faster on Hadrian's shaft, maybe he'll reach climax quicker and therefore forgive his perceived transgressions.

There are none to forgive, but the effort is appreciated, and Hadrian intends to reap the benefits.

Dropping his hands to grip modified-wide hips, Hadrian surges up to take one of the freed nipples into his greedy mouth, sucking hard enough to make Lucius cry out and arch, briefly stuttering in his riding rhythm. Magic shoves a pillow up against his back to help support the somewhat awkward position so he doesn't strain himself. Taking in as much of the plump mammary into his mouth as he can get, he sucks hard and rough, tormenting the nipple with teeth and tongue and drinking in every last texture and taste. His hands' grasp on Lucius' hips continue to help him rock and hump and bounce on his burgeoning erection, which fairly aches with need. Almost without thought, his pelvis rolls in gentle circles as a counterpoint.

The breast he isn't devouring bounces unencumbered, brushing its delectable softness against Hadrian's cheek. Between them, Lucius' semi-hard, mostly flaccid cocklet, an oversized clitoris at this point, flops with every movement, warm and drooling a clear fluid like the juices seeping steadily from the pussy below it.

One hand leaves a hip in favor of sneaking back behind and spanking one buttock, then the other, back and forth, light but stinging contact that makes Lucius work harder, bounce faster, cunt spasming with each impact as he whimpers frantically. Hadrian grunts around his prized mouthful, ecstasy washing through him and wresting control of his boy and the ability think clearly away from him.

Both hands on his hips again, he slams Lucius down hard onto his cock, as deep as he can get. The desperate pole of pulsing flesh breaches the cervix he'd been flirting with, balls pressed up to the spank-warm flesh of Lucius' ass. Lucius screams, arching and trembling. Hadrian's second climax roars up out of his dick with the force of a tsunami despite how they'd started out so sweet and gentle.

His thighs go numb from it.

Mouth popping free, he drops back so he can see his lover in all his glory through pleasure-hazed vision. Thighs tighten around his hips, as if that will ensure they don't break apart from each other. Spunk spurts from him in hot ropes, coating Lucius' walls, filling his womb. Seemingly just form the sensation of his husband's seed flooding his insides once more, Lucius shivers his way through a third orgasm, pussy squirting weakly over Hadrian's already messy lap.

Merlin's beard and Salazar's balls, it's so blood hot.

“Yes yes yes yes yes yes...” Lucius chants, mindless and trembling and so far fucking gone in their shared euphoria. “So good, so bloody good. So full, so big inside me. So warm and so so gooooooood...”

Rambling. Babbling. Hadrian had fucked him so well, so thoroughly, he'd destroyed all memory and notion of extensive Pureblood etiquette and good manners that had no doubt been drilled into him as soon as he could understand language, and caused Lucius to chatter and ramble.

Had Hadrian had any of his mental faculties, even a hint of his characteristic intellect and wit, still about him, eh would have teased and gloated—all in good fun, of course—would have been immensely and visibly smug. But they're not, and he can't; they're strewn about, haphazard and out of reach, and all he can do is mutter agreements and raspy praises, rocking and quivering with his own overpowering pleasure, unable to focus on anything but the sensations and emotions engulfing him, senses dialed up to ten and intelligence bottoming out to caveman status.

The blond beauty wilts and goes boneless, nearly slumping off to the mattress if not for Hadrian's arms guiding him down with the little remaining strength and physical coordination he can muster. He happily accepts his weight atop him, as slight as it is. A soft, steady hum rises from his chest, like a purr, and he rocks slightly, cuddling Lucius as their afterglow settles firmly over them like a blanket.

Time gets away from them, basking in each other's presence, their scents and warmth. Hands wander lazily, exploring without a goal or end in mind. The amount of kisses they exchange is innumerable, unquantifiable. The room is quiet except for the smack of lips, the crackle of the fire, and their breathing, which eventually calms from frantic and panting to soft and tranquil. Satisfaction is a buzzing glow in their chests, tingling in their limbs, even as exhaustion settles in and weights down their bones.

Unbidden, Hadrian's magic cleans them of their worst messes—the cum leaking out of Lucius' holes, the vaginal fluids coating their legs, groins, and the bed, the sweat cooling and drying on their skin. The lights dim further. The fireplace continues to burn, ensuring they are warm and cozy. Clean and feeling a little refreshed, the two allow themselves to rest a little more deeply, mumbling nonsensically to each other.

He doesn't remember doing it, but eventually Hadrian crawls in an awkward scoot-and-shuffle up the bed with his husband-shaped bundle still curled on top of him, until they are at the head of the bed, covers lifted and draped over them, pillows back where they belong, to create a cocoon of warmth and comfort. His softened manhood slips free of Lucius' body, and the blond is too tired and disoriented to whine or protest the loss.

At some point, he rouses enough from a sleepy doze to acknowledge Penny silently popping in to collect their discarded, folded clothes for cleaning. She titters quietly, pleased that her young master has been officially bonded in matrimony to his long-time betrothed, expressing it wordlessly with gentle strokes of her long, crooked fingers through his mussed curls.

She leaves, only to return with a glass and a pitcher of chilled water. She fills the glass and watches as he coaxes the liquid down his sleepy husband's throat. He kisses his face and strokes his neck and hair until the whole glass is emptied. Penny refills it, and he doesn't even need her to give him a sharp look to accept and drink it himself. She offers more, but he declines, so she leaves the pitcher, with ice now, on the closest nightstand in case they wake up later in the night.

He knows it's still early yet, all things considered. The ceremony had been mid-afternoon, and they had only stayed for the following dance and dinner for a little over an hour before they'd taken their leave. At best, it's mid- to late-evening now.

Their vigorous, enthusiastic lovemaking have exhausted them both, however, and Lucius is still recovering from a months-long ordeal which had included torture and starvation, so they both resolve to rest. Lucius is already dead to the world, snuggled into Hadrian's chest and shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around him, legs a little tighter than that about his hips. It takes very little convincing for Hadrian to let go of consciousness and drift off to the land of dreams with his husband.

Chapter Text

Lucius' health improves significantly quicker after the consummation of their bond. His fevers fade without the need for potions, returning only if he goes too long without sexual intimacy or physical contact with his husband. The infection brewing in his lungs dissipates. His injures are able to heal quicker under Hadrian's care without the interference as well. His appetite returns, and his weight even out so he's not sickly thin where the new fat deposits haven't reshaped him. His moods and eyes brighten, almost back to his natural demeanor, although he still finds himself tiring easily. As it is only a week after his rescue, Hadrian assures him that lethargy is natural, and that he could take a few months before he is feeling a hundred percent himself again after everything he has been through in the past few months.

The magical exhaustion is harder to fix. Because the magic had literally and forcefully been drained from him, rather than a simple overuse of his core, the recovery is a bit more complicated. It can't be fixed just from drinking a potion and taking a nap, although the bolstering from a bonded partner's more healthy core mitigates the symptoms of the damage.

Lucius is strictly forbidden from using any type of magic unless he absolutely cannot help it. If Hadrian has to part from him, he insists one the House Elves or Lestrange Brothers stay with him, or one the more trusted Death Eaters to provide protection while the young Malfoy Heir is temporarily impaired. He has to take strengthening potions designed specifically for healing his magical core, brewed especially by the Dark Lord, and he has to be sure not to eat foods that are harder for his digestive system to process. Overly stimulating foods and activities are to be kept to a minimum to reduce physical and mental stress.

Additionally, he has to limit his physical activities, both in duration and intensity, because exhausting the body too frequently also slows down the healing process. Even when just walking, the blond has to be careful to take measured, somewhat slow steps. Hadrian spends an hour every day using his own magic to build defenses, repair damages on and around his husband's vulnerable core, and adding little bits of his essence into Lucius' depleted reserves; it's a little bit like physical therapy, but for something inherently magical and non-physical.

Hadrian also has to be careful to not be the one to tire him out too heavily when they have intercourse or get otherwise intimate, which is rather difficult since it's a matter of pride to wear out a partner to that point; it means he's done a blood good job of pleasing his lover. Luckily, sex can have it's own kind of magic-generating faculties, when done correctly.

Thankfully, they aren't expected to do too much of anything for that first week, as it is technically their honeymoon. All they are expected to do is focus on each other, relax, fornicate, eat, and deepen their bond. Hadrian promises to give Lucius a real honeymoon once he has fully recovered, when he can fully enjoy himself without having to worry about his health, and is allowed to travel; they also need to eliminate Abraxas Malfoy's allies that had had a hand in Lucius' abduction and torture, so there isn't a worry for his or Hadrian's safety during any such holidays.

Lucius admits that it's easy to rest and care for himself when Hadrian is there every step of the process. If he had been expected to do it all on his own, or with only a House Elf's assistance, the process and effort would be far more arduous.

Da insists on periodically checking on Lucius' progress, and Hadrian doesn't buy that it's only because he needs to know of any changes, improvements or otherwise, for the research he is conducting on the potions. The Dark Lord has a hard time expressing it when he feels concerned for wix other than his son, and this is just his way of showing he cares for his son-in-law without outright saying or acknowledging that is what he is doing.

Now that the gateway to sexual gratification has been opened, Hadrian finds himself craving his spouse all the time. He had briefly considered that maybe it was a side effect of the aphrodisiac potion somehow also affecting him, but his father debunked the theory, stating that it is only natural to have a healthy sex drive after being bonded to a young wizard equally as capable of matching his previously repressed desires. Their all-around compatibility in more things than just their magical strength—Lucius isn't unwell—and in the romance department only strengthens their newly-awakened libidos. It works in their favor at any rate, given Lucius' “special needs.”

The problem lies in the fact that neither of them really care if they start going at it in a common area—where other people could walk in at any time. Lucius wants what he wants when he wants it, and Hadrian is more than willing and happy to provide it. In their second week, following the “honeymoon week,” they've had to restrain or excused themselves from a meeting or a public space to sneak off and take care of business.

Several people have complained about coming across them snogging in the hallways or in the garden or anywhere else not strictly private, and Voldemort, amused, has had to tell his followers and servants in no uncertain terms that he does. Not. Care. Hadrian is an adult, and he is well within his rights to do as he pleases in his own home, as the Dark Lord's son and his only Heir. He is bonded to an attractive wix close in age, and said wix has special needs as a result of an assault with combined illegal potions forced upon him at the hands of someone he loved. If the complaining witnesses don't want to see it, then they are more than welcome to vacate the premises.

Hadrian can't help but smirk with amusement whenever he overhears his father say this, or when it is reported to him some time later by a devilishly grinning Rabastan; Rabastan finds it entirely amusing that his friend is causing so much trouble just by tending to his lovely husband's needs, and he is also one of the rare few who won't scream and run if he happens upon them in any stage coitus, but stay and watch with arousal and appreciation on his face.

Out of everyone in the manor, aside from Lucius and Da, Rabastan's is the opinion that would make Hadrian care, as his best friend. As he is not in a relationship with anyone, and he rarely goes out to engage in his own adventures, the younger Lestrange brother has been known to wander off to head other people off after watching their intimate forays. Sometimes he lets other people walk in for the sheer entertainment of their dramatic reactions. At no time has Rabastan complained.

Lucius is always embarrassed after the deeds have been done, as a properly raised little Pureblood who had remained a virgin until they were married and bound should act, but in the heat of the moment of something spontaneous and carnal, or leading up to that moment when he's feeling the urges spurred on by the potions and in need of relief, he couldn't care less. Post-coital embarrassment and humiliation never prevents him from accosting Hadrian wherever whenever.

With the strengthening of their bond comes the dreams, Lucius' memories. Because they are the freshest and the strongest, the one of Lucius' time in captivity are the first ones Hadrian receives. The magic that provides them through the bond fades them out, makes them hazy, so as to prevent replicated pain and trauma to the viewer while ensuring that said bondmate understands the gravity and intensity of what had transpired.

Sometimes Malfoy supervised, sometimes he participated if only to give orders, and sometimes he wasn't present at all. The older man's face was stony and closed off, no hint of whatever fatherly affection he may have once held for his son present. Those gray eyes were cold and unforgiving, barren of life and frozen like the Siberian tundra. The tears and pleas from his son inspired nothing but further cruelty and disdain, and he'd roared back in infuriated madness when Lucius begged for mercy or desperately tried to make his father understand that he loved Hadrian.

The please fell on deaf ears, and Malfoy only doubled down on his insane campaign, punishing his only child worse than a House Elf and seeming to even rejoice in the screams after a while, like no parent ever should, like no true wizarding parent would.

His hired mercenaries certainly did.

The men hired by Malfoy to keep his hands and magic clean had cursed Lucius with a spell that simulated the sensation of fire ants traversing through his guts, setting him ablaze from the inside while steel wool was scraped over his arms, stomach, and thighs—healed only to resume the next day. They'd physically drowned him in a livestock water trough, draining his magic as brutal hands held his struggling body underwater, fists pounding into his stomach to force his held breath out; he'd nearly died three times, had wished he had before the end, but they revived him each time, only to start over minutes later, shouting filth and demanding compliance.

Pneumonia developed and almost claimed him, but Malfoy had made sure he'd been at least treated for that, if only to continue the torture of his own offspring.

The threats they inundated him with were numerous, frequent, and horrendously creative—burning his tastebuds off, removing his nipples, stabbing through his bellybutton and stirring around his guts, using any number of potions to cause pain and disfigurement, letting a train of wix and humanoid creatures to have their way with him while a crowd watched, inserting the eggs of various creatures inside his orifices to turn him into an incubator until they hatches and crawled their way out of him by whatever means they chose.

After a while, Lucius stopped listening and could only focus on the pain of what they were doing.

They had kept him naked and cold, bound at all times, had only given him water twice a day, and any food he received had been leftovers and usually mere scraps at that. He'd been forced to relive himself under their scrutiny into a metal pail, and often left to sit in puddles of piss during the sessions of when the siphoning process blocked control of his body at the same time.

While Malfoy had forbidden his virginity from being taken in any way—apparently so he could auction it off—it had not prevented the men from wanking over his naked, broken body, or forcing him to rub his face against the bulges hidden under straining trousers, calling him all manner of names and degrading him as he struggled to breathe through the pneumonia and pain and his tears.

And then comes the memory of when Lucius had been forced to take the potions. Hadrian watches the smarmy Potions Master, an Arabic man that leered and touched Lucius as he pleased, like he had a bloody right. He watches the aphrodisiac be forced down his throat, and while he was choking and gagging it down, men grabbed his legs and jerked them up and open, exposing his voluptuous ass and virgin hole to the sinister gazes of all the other eyes in the room. Another one held Lucius' wrists above his head, and bruising grips mar his pale flesh as the potion was pumped into him with a large syringe inserted into his rectum, followed by the plug to keep it in.

The Silencing potion was administered after half an hour to cut off Lucius' screams and pleas, of pain and fear and for mercy and help. He'd been slapped, backhanded, when he tried to kick the Potions Master as he came forward with the second dose, this time to be placed in a newly formed cunt. Lucius wailed and writhed in a futile undulation, his body bidding for escape he'll never achieve without magic or an ally.

When it became clear that he wasn't going to be any more entertaining than that, especially when he inevitably lost energy, and Malfoy wasn't going to allow anyone to molest him while his new body formed, the room cleared out. Lucius was left in that room, alone in his misery, for quite a long time before Rodolphus and his men appeared to save him, bundling him up in the dirty robes and vacating as soon as possible.

By the time the memories have moved off to less traumatic, if not happier, events, Hadrian is well and truly livid. He spends a full day pampering and lavishing tender loving care on his very appreciative albeit confused and bashful husband. The next day, after making sure Lucius will be occupied for the majority of the day, he goes to the dungeons where Malfoy is being kept.

He spends almost six hours force-feeding the emotions of despair, hopelessness, bone-deep terror, and soul-crushing betrayal directly into the man's brain with Rabastan on standby. He presses his own malice in amongst those emotions so that Malfoy Sr. whimpers and cringes beneath him. Fingers claw in greasy, filthy silver hair, fingernails dug deep enough into the scalp to draw blood and shift it when he jerks his hand.

He doesn't need eye contact for his magic and the Elder wand to enter and utterly destroy his mind with everything his son, Hadrian's husband, had experienced and endured. While he suffers the mental anguish, unable to escape, Hadrian also crushes the man's genitalia under dragonhide boots, slowly and gradually, until they are utterly destroyed.

If Da allows the bastard to live after all is said and done, Malfoy certainly will never have a child again. He'd be lucky if he could get a twitch out of the mess of mangled flesh, but he'd only ever ejaculate anything other than blood and piss.

Rabastan cackles behind him, sadistically pleased. It sounds a bit like that maniacal laugh Bellatrix has. Perhaps the younger brother has been around his sister-in-law too long.

He spells Hadrian's boots clean before they leave the cell. Malfoy lies in a puddle of piss, blood, drool, and tears, shuddering and moaning under the waves of continued torment.

Afterwards, Hadrian finds his husband, just beginning to feel the effects of their separation, and fucks him sweet and slow in a secluded corner of the magically blooming garden in the waning afternoon winter sun.

The blond goes to dinner with a flower in his hair, grass stains on his knees, and a plug transfigured from a rose holding Hadrian's cum in his ass. He doesn't ask what Hadrian did all day, nor about what had him in such a mood, and Hadrian doesn't offer the details. Instead, they listen to the usual dinner banter, join in themselves for a bit, and retire to their shared rooms after dessert. They engage in two more rounds before they bathe together and fall asleep in their comfortable bed.

Hadrian basks in Lucius' happier memories and hopes his misdeeds of today don't translate to the blond's dreams. He'll tell him eventually, but not until Lucius is better.

Somewhere along the way, the Black sisters take it upon themselves to raid Malfoy Manor for Lucius' belongings, and also for valuable artefacts that either Lucius may want, or that the Dark Lord will appreciate in some capacity. Lucius denies wanting separate rooms from Hadrian, as is Pureblood tradition, so Hadrian gladly watches him and his cousins make space for Lucius' clothes, books, knick-knacks, and anything else he owns.

It makes things feel so much more permanent. Lucius is making his home here, right beside Hadrian, claiming space as he should. He isn't just here for holiday or for a medical leave, and then he'll go home. This is his home. He's here to stay.

His mother's portrait joins the wall of the Gaunt ancestors—nothing from the Riddle side, predictably, as Voldemort would much rather forget that part of his lineage—and Hadrian's mother. The two women are often found visiting each other's frames, getting along like best friends as they chatter to each other about their bonded children.

Narcissa and Andromeda take Lucius shopping for new clothes and undergarments for his new curves that so far appear to be permanent fixtures; it has been over a month since his rescue, and the breasts haven't shrunk in size or gone away completely, the vagina hasn't turned back into the testicles he'd lost, his body hair hasn't grown back in, and his penis hasn't returned to its original size or become any more functional than it has been thus far. Voldemort and the newly returned Snape haven't found cures for any of them, either, despite their research and experimentations.

“Would it upset you if I ended up not wanting to go back to my old body?” Lucius inquires one day, snuggled up to his side in a chair Hadrian had spelled wider to accommodate a second occupant, while Hadrian is skimming a progress report on one of his long-term patients with a chronic health condition.

“What do you mean, lovely?” Hadrian asks, fingers lazily playing in long tresses, easily one of his favorite pastimes.

“It's not like I didn't like my body before, but I'm sort of getting used to this one,” Lucius replies carefully, thinking his words through as he says them. “I hate that I was forced into this form, that it had been intended to hurt me and punish me, and ultimately benefit my father at the same time. I don't hate the pleasure it brings you, and me by proxy, or how attractive it is. Aside from possibly having a menstrual cycle and having to relearn a center of gravity, my current body isn't all that bad.”

“Do you want Da and Snape to stop searching for a cure?” Hadrian queries, caressing Lucius' back, watching his face so Lucius knows he has his husband's full attention.

“No,” the blond replies decisively. “It's something that should be researched for anyone else who might suffer the same affliction. I doubt I am the only one Father's Potion Master victimized this way. But it's not a priority for me now. Maybe something to help manage the need for sex every six to eight hours... Eventually there will be a situation where you won't be able to help me when the symptoms arise and flare, and I don't want to risk being impaired and defenseless.”

“I will let Da know,” Hadrian tells him, proud of his husband's confidence in communicating his needs and desires. He kisses the tip of his pert nose. “You're telling Snape, however. He already thinks of me as an opportunistic rapist, I do not want him to think I am escalating the abuse by forcing you to remain in a body you don't want for my sexual gratification.”

“I am sorry he is so antagonistic, husband,” Lucius murmurs, leaning further into his space. Hadrian can't help the soft shivery thrill he gets when he hears that name on his tongue. “He has known of my love for you for eons; I don't know why he is acting this way.”

“My honest opinion? Unrequited romantic feelings for his best friend, which naturally results in setting impossibly high standards for the suitors that aren't him.”

“He had unrequited feelings for Lily Evans in Hogwarts,” Lucius says by way of protest.

“Did she officially reject him?”

“Yes. She married James Potter a year after graduating Hogwarts. I believe sh eis a few months pregnant now.”

“Then it sounds like he switched his focus to you,” Hadrian muses. “It seems he just transferred his obsession to you.”

Lucius' nose wrinkles. It's inexplicably cute. “That seems unlikely. Why would he do that, knowing I've always been fully committed to you?”

“Sometimes emotions take the reins and dull rational thinking in even the most disciplined of men. My father is a good example of it. He has incredible intellect and tenacious control over everything except for his temper, even with suppression charms and the use of specialized potions. He cannot help the things he obsesses over. Snape has far less experience in this area, so it's not hard for me to believe in my theory.”

Lucius sighs and rests against Hadrian's shoulder, conceding his point, at least for now. After a moment of silence, Hadrian wraps his arm more securely around his lover and returns his attention to the report he'd previously been studying. Unconsciously, he shifts his head so that his cheek presses to Lucius' forehead, surreptitiously checking his skin's temperature. It's a habit he's picked up over the weeks, testing for a fever without being too obvious to be sure Lucius isn't suffering needlessly. For now, he seems all right, just a little affectionate and snuggly, which Hadrian has no problem obliging.

Eventually, though, Lucius gets a little squirmy. He doesn't even seem to realize it, most of the time, especially when he is so close to napping, like right now. His body leans in more insistently, and his hands will start wandering, seemingly without conscious thought. Hadrian has come to see little warning signs, even from across the room. If his eyes were open, they'd be going hazy and a little distant with fantasies.

Sooner or later, Hadrian will have Lucius conditioned to be confident enough to just ask for what he wants before he gets to the point where he is too desperate for any other choice. For now, he'll enjoy the kitten-shy advances and little suggestions from observed body language that he picks up on every time.

As casual as can be, Hadrian closes up the report, already finished with it, and he sets it on the large mahogany desk in fron to f him. A wave of magic closes the door to his office, not bothering to lock it since most people know not to enter without knocking or express permission, especially now with how frequently he and Lucius have been caught in the middle of intimate situations; the way he sees it, if someone enters his closed office and walks in on the new husbands mid- or post-coitus, that's their problem, not his.

One hand ruck up Lucius' robes and start pushing at the waistband of his trousers. The other hand goes to the fly of his own trousers, button undone and zipper pulled down swiftly so his still-soft member is free to exit the hole; he has taken to avoiding undergarments unless he intends on leaving the manor for easier access. Under Lucius' trousers, his dexterous fingers find lacy knickers rather than the boxer-briefs he used to wear. He traces along the patterns, and Lucius shifts a bit, lifting his head out of the little half-doze he'd been in.

Chin tilted, Lucius offers his lips, and Hadrian gladly claims them in a slow, sensual kiss. Tongues glide and rub, dancing with each other, while their lips massage and cling. The rise of heat in their bloodstreams is gradual and delicious, tingling and luscious. They break for breath, and Hadrian's fingers dig through silver-blond tresses, nose brushing along pretty, porcelain features.

He pushes Lucius' knickers down, exposing the curves of his glorious ass and the dewy petals of his pussy to open air. Magic widens the chain just a little more for maneuverability, and Lucius lifts up to his knees a bit, leaning over Hadrian's lap, one hand braced on a muscular thigh and the other on the other side as he hovers over him.

Warm breath flutters over Hadrian's stiffening manhood, a little moist as it caresses sensitive flesh. They have never done this. Lucius has thus far been a bit nervous about having his mouth near Hadrian's groin, and Hadrian has always assumed it is a mix of inexperience and remembered trauma from his captivity, and therefore never pushes boundaries. He also hasn't put his mouth to Lucius' cock or pussy, directly, just in case the trepidation extends to receiving the attention as well.

Anticipation prickles along his senses now that the blond seems to be initiating whatever this is, and he holds his hips still, allowing him the freedom to explore and move as he pleases.

He doesn't keep his own fingers from their own goals, however. He tenderly traces fingertips along the contours of the back of Lucius' cunt, smearing what fluids have leaked so far. Lucius, always so receptive and sensitive to his touch, sighs and spreads his thighs a smidge more in the limited space, one even hanging a little off the edge of the seat of the chair. Two digits sink into the waiting hole, just as Lucius' curious tongue swipes along the head of Hadrian's cock.

It is a bit like being struck by lightning. Hadrian gasps and drops his head back, careful not to jolt or make any sharp movements that might scare Lucius or accidentally knock him to the floor. Lucius pauses, as if processing to see if he likes the taste or texture of Hadrian's flesh. Then he tries again, this lick slower, starting a few inches lower on the shaft and dragging up to the tip once more. Hadrian mimics the motion with his fingers, a slow drag along those internal walls that convulse and flutter around him in response.

“Nice and slow, my love,” Hadrian croons, amazed he can keep his voice steady. “Take your time. Neither of us have done this before, so just figure out what you like and watch your teeth; I'll tell you if I don't like something, and we'll learn together.”

Blue eyes flick up to his face, even as that little pink tongue slowly drags along his skin. Hot salive and agile flesh caress his sensitive rod, followed by soft puffs of breath that cool the wet paths before he starts over again. Lustful emerald watches intensely. Obscene squelching and slurping comes from that delightfully tight, wet cavern, the fingers plundering and caressing inside of it eager and diligent in their duties.

A moan vibrating along his cock is a new and novel sensation, and Hadrian can't help the loud groan that jutters out of him. His fingers thrust a little harder, just briefly, just for a few strokes, before they gentle once more, returning to their steady, sustainable pace. Precum oozes from his tip, and Lucius tentatively licks it up, tasting it. Emotions flicker over his expressions for a few seconds, and Hadrian drinks it in. Then lips seal around the tip, tongue flicking back and forth, searching for more of that flavor.

“Merlin's balls, sweetheart, that's so good,” Hadrian gasps, rolling his hips for just a minute, unable to hold back. Lucius squeaks, surprised, but he moves to roll with th motion, lashes fluttering pretty and dainty against his cheeks. “You're driving me mad,” Hadrian continues, forcing his hips to still once more. “Make me want to hold your head still and just fuck up into your throat, make you swallow my cream like it's dessert.”

Lucius moans again, and pleasure jolts through him like lightning bolts. His grip on Lucius' hair tightens, and he doesn't know how, but he manages to refrain from pounding up into his throat; his muscles twitch and tremble minutely with the effort. The blond suckles softly, still feeling out how to go about things, still so careful not to scrape with his teeth, even accidentally. He keeps glancing up at Hadrian's face, gauging his reactions, testing little swirls and touches while dutifully licking up any precum that leaks from his slit.

His hips start to move as well. He matches Hadrian's caresses, enhancing how his fingers fuck him. His walls flutter and clench, massaging the intruding digits with a needy desperation.

“Go deeper, my lovely,” Hadrian urges softly, craving more, wanting to feel the flutter of Lucius' esophagus around his thick shaft, to hear the choked gags and cut off gasps when his inexperienced throat tries to take him. He shakes with the need, and with the restraint from taking from what he wants.

Of course his husband obeys. He takes in a few more inches, tongue wriggling and caressing every which way in a clumsy attempt to please. Plump lips stretch wide and massage up and down the thick, hot pole of Hadrian's burgeoning manhood, and drool trickles down the remaining length of it.

The sound that escapes Hadrian is damned near animalistic. He adds a finger to the ones already inside Lucius, and he gives them a sharp twist. Lucius squeals, lifting up off him, and he nearly collapses at the sudden onslaught of sensation, quivering and dropping his head ot rest against Hadrian's twitching abdomen. Hadrian only allows him respite for a minute before using his grip on the smaller wizard's hair to bring his head up. The slightest movement impales Lucius' mouth with cock again, forcing him down a few more inches than before.

His tip taps the back of Lucius' throat.

Lucius gags, surprised more than anything, and tries to lift away, but Hadrian exerts just enough strength to keep firm. He holds him in place, and blue eyes lock on green for an instant. A twist of his fingers again, and Lucius bucks, but he doesn't dislodge despite his attempts.

“You're doing so well, Lucius,” Hadrian praises, encouraging, as his throat stops trying to resist, gags fading, and reddened lips resume suckling, tongue rubbing along the thick vein on the underside of his cock. “Do you like it? Do you like your husband hot and heavy on your tongue? Filling your mouth?”

Unable to pull away so that he can speak, Lucius hums, lowering his lids to half-mast. His body adjusts a bit, as if bracing himself for a better angle. He sucks a little harder, then hesitantly pushes a little further down, jerking back up when he gags again.

“Stroke what you can't fit, sweetheart,” Hadrian suggests, driving his fingers in deeper and a little faster, enough to make Lucius' fluids squirt and splash from the rougher motions.

Again, Lucius obeys, the perfect submissive to Hadrian's more dominant nature. Shifting his weight onto the hand on the seat, he lifts the one from Hadrian's thigh and curls it around Hadrian's dick. When his head slides down, his hand moves up, until his lips kiss his own skin, and then it slides down to his base when his head pulls back. Over and over, and Gods above, it feels so fucking good. The combination of hot and wet mouth and soft, smooth skin of a well-manicured hand, puffing breaths, and the image of the whole package burning into his memory is maddening in the best ways.

They fall into a rhythm that way, with Lucius slowly working himself further and further down as he gets used to the extra length before, hand pumping and squeezing to make up for what he can't reach yet. All the while, Hadrian tends to him with vigorous thrusts, striving to make his lover twitch and tremble and cry with desire and pleasure, those noises resonating all along his dick and testing his control.

A breeze of magic brushes along Lucius' neck, circling it like an invisible collar. Moments later, the tight muscles relax, and he is able to sink further down onto Hadrian's shaft without gagging or struggling through the constriction of his own esophagus. He hums, the rest of his body relaxing as well, and his suckling turns more enthusiastic without the strain to hinder him. Aided by the new relief, he eases his way down until plump, reddened lips kiss the base of his husband's dick, nestled against dark, trimmed pubes.

Unable to help himself, losing grip on his control and a little on reality, hadrian thrusts in and out of Lucius' mouth and throat. He still has enough presence of mind to stay slow and careful, unwilling to harm his lover, his darling husband, and his fingers continue on their quest to wreck Lucius' sopping cunt.

“Do you want to swallow mu cum, Lucius?” Hadrian gasps out between moans and grunbts, breathless and fighting his orgasm even as he pumps his hips in an undeviating rhythm. “Or do you want me to pull out and cover your pretty face? You have to let me know soon, I'm not going to last much longer, sweetheart.”

Even as he says it, he can feel the heat and the tightening of his muscles, the urgency of an impending tsunami rushing towards land spreading through his limbs and loins and kicking at the back of his brain.

Lucius pulls off, slow and torturous, until he is breathing wetly over his throbbing, aching, yearning manhood, tilting his head with his cheek resting against it. Hadrian's mouth dries up, struck speechless by his husband's otherworldly beauty once more. His eyes, like crystalline oceans of blue, are sparkling with tears, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed a fetching pink. He stares up at Hadrian's face for a few moments that feel like endless minutes. Then he turns back; he pecks a wet kiss to his tip before he swallows Hadrian don again, sucking hard and squeezing with his throat deliberately.

Resistance and control crack. They didn't stand a chance.

Hadrian cries out and twists long blond hair around his fingers and wrist tighter than before, crushing the silken strands in his grip. He slams up hard, holding Lucius down, as his orgasm roars up out of him in thick ropes of white.

Lucius gags and chokes for a second, unprepared for the sudden intensity, surprised despite his decision to choose this course of action, but then his throat seems to catch up with the notion of what is happening and swallows, drinking down what pumps out of his husband's cock. His hands clutch at Hadrian's thighs and the seat cushion beneath them, and his hips shove back harder into Hadrian's hand, which has momentarily slackened from its task.

Of course, a the little insistent movement, he resumes, pounding rough and without much of a rhythm anymore, just wanting to make his lover come as quickly as he can. He never liked letting Lucius go without for so long, especially if he has already reached his own completion. In fact, he prefers getting him off as many times as possible before he has even one orgasm.

White noise static muffles his hearing and his thoughts. For a few minutes, it feels like he's moving through molasses. He watches in a haze as his husband's magnificent mouth milks him for all he's worth, pale lashes fluttering against his high cheekbones even as he struggles to flick his gaze up to Hadrian's emerald scrutiny, trying to maintain eye contact. Robotic movements drag Lucius up off Hadrian's cock in time enough for the last rope of spend to brust across Lucius' tastebuds rather than directly down his throat.

Sky-colored pools blink in befuddlement, processing on a delay, and he rolls the pearly fluid around in his mouth with his tongue. Hadrian directs him to tilt his head just a bit so he can watch it, lust spiking, still burning in his loins despite the earth-shattering orgasm he'd just had.

Lucius swallows, and then he moans, the noise a little hoarse from the abuse his throat has taken, and the most pornographic sound Hadrian has ever heard him make.

Hadrian tugs him up for a messy, filthy kiss, and his pinky pops past Lucius's stretched entrance, now four digits deep. It wouldn't take much to work his whole fist in, he muses fuzzily. Lucius jolts, crying into the kiss, and his fluids flood out of him in his own orgasm, finally, soaking Hadrian's forearm and lap with it all.

“Good boy,” he murmurs between hot, sloppy kisses, “such a sweet, good boy. Felt so good, Lucius, my love, so bloody good.”

Lucius, for his part, can only whimper and mewl, his body shuddering, quivering, doing a little shimmy dance, as h rides out his climax on Hadrian's caressing fingers, which have slowed their pace from a rough fuck to gentling him down from the high of the orgasm. He collapses atop Hadrian's chest, hips still trying to roll and bounce, hands clutching at what he can reach, seemingly uncaring of the mess his cunt is making all over their clothes and the chair under them.

“Precious love, you're so perfect for me,” Hadrian continues to murmur reverently, his brain cells pulling together little by little to become a bit more coherent as he lathers praise on his gorgeous husband. “You did so well, even without my magic helping you along. And you took direction and suggestions so beautifully. Do you feel okay, my lovely? No sharp pains or unbearable discomfort?”

“No, feel so good, Hadrian,” he moans, slurring a bit. He nuzzles his face to Hadrian's, cheek to cheek. “Want more, please. Want your cock deep inside me. Even if it's not fucking me, my love, please. Just need you inside me...”

“Who could deny such a sweet voice asking so nicely for what he wants?” the Dark Lord's son croons, smiling, endeared. “You're not too sensitive, sweet love? I don't want you to push yourself so soon after coming all over me.”

“No, no, Hadrian, I want it. 'M okay, not too sensitive, I swear.” Lucius nips the side of his neck, then laves over it with his tongue in apology, as if to help convince Hadrian of his needs, his readiness for penetration so soon after the last release.

As if Hadrian would ever need more than a “please” to convince him to do anything for his spouse.

For a while, Lucius just stays sitting there, happily perched on Hadrian's lap. Hadrian is more than willing to let him. Their breathing calms and synchronizes, chests brushing against each other with every measured inhale. The pleasure ebbs to a low-grade, satisfying buzz in the background of their minds. They bask in the skinship, the slow caresses and whispers of breath, the languid kisses traded across lips and over the closest appendages.

The contrast in their states of undress, Lucius completely nude and Hadrian still clothed from the waist up and the knees down, is a different sort of arousal he never thought would get his gears running; it's a rush of some type of power, smoothing hands over silken, bare skin in all it's glory while half of his own is hidden from sight. Lucius restlessly fidgets with the fabric of the shirt, but he never tries to remove it.

“What sparked that little idea, love?” Hadrian asks curiously after some time has passed. “Not that I'm complaining, of course; it was fantastic. Wondering minds and all that.” He punctuates it with a kiss to Lucius' Adam's apple and a happy little smile.

“Bellatrix suggested it,” the blond admits a little bashfully, ducking his head to try to hide the evidence of his blush.

“Well that's not at all surprising, honestly.” He nips the blond's chin, making him squeak and jolt back a bit. A subtle flex of Hadrian's muscles keeps him from overbalancing and falling off.

Bellatrix had a reputation in school, and she and Rodolphus have been known to participate in triads a time or seven throughout their marriage. Rodolphus apparently likes to watch his wife dominate weaker men, and sometimes submissive beautiful women, and occasionally receive a blowjob from her or the male partner while she is wrecking him in all manner of methods, as long as he is the only one to actually ejaculate inside her, and she never kissed them on their mouths. Similarly, Bellatrix doesn't like Rodolphus to vaginally penetrate or kiss a female partner, although she took a great bit of pleasure to watch him make-out with male partners.

The things he learns from hanging out with either Lestrange Brother for two long...

“And then Narcissa gave me tips.”

Dark eyebrows fly toward his hairline. Now that is a surprise. Honestly, it's hard to imagine Narcissa in a position to pleasure a man, let alone be willing to take a man's penis into her mouth without the danger of her outright castrating them with her teeth. Hadrian had always thought she was or is a lesbian, had even suspected she had a little something going on with one of the many lovely Veela Delacour family, but maybe she is more bisexual with a heavy preference for women, or just very picky about the men she takes to bed.

“That's a bit more unexpected,” Hadrian remarks after a minute of processing time, hands squeezing from where they'd inevitably journeyed down to the round, perfect globes of his husband's wonderful ass. “Always thought she preferred witches. Then again, it's not something I ever pay attention to or care about anyone's sexuality beyond how it might affect them medically. I take pleasure in shoving STI pamphlets and safe sex paraphernalia at Da's Death Eaters just to see their expressions.”

“She does usually prefer those of the fairer sex,” Lucius confirms, hips rolling in the tiniest swivel before settling once more, internal walls pulsing around Hadrian's steadfast erection. “She is just very selective about the men she allows to pursue her. She told me that at one point before our betrothal became public knowledge, she had been considering Courting me because I apparently ticked off the majority of her preferences for both genders even before my transformation. You also did on a strictly objective standpoint, but even if you had been born of a different mother so you weren't cousins, your blood from the Dark Lord basically made you pretty untouchable.”

“I'm not sure how I feel about one of my favorite cousins admitting she is 'objectively' attracted to me,” Hadrian laughs, smirking at the blissed-out expression caused by the involuntary jostling. He presses a kiss to the end of Lucius' chin. Peppering a trail along the edge of his jaw, he makes his way tot he blond's earlobe. There, he lingers, nibbling and teasing with his tongue. His husband's hands knead at his shoulders while he holds still for the attention.

“I felt the same way when Cousin Alford Malfoy tried to grope me in the supply closet in Third Year,” Lucius agrees, sighing with pleasure. “That one was confusing and mildly horrifying. That's also how we found out Grandfather put wards on the Manor to eject anyone engaging in incestuous acts. Alford got tossed out in the Abraxan pastures, where he then fled screaming as if the poor beasts would attack him just for trodding on the grass. I remember the House Elves laughing to themselves about it in the kitchen.”

“As I remember, Alford was a right berk to any of the staff and House Elves alike. He only ever behaved respectfully here in my father's home because of Da's demand for respect and common courtesy, and our House Elves are allowed to practice self-defense, especially if it is used to defend the house and its occupants.”

Lucius hums in agreement and leans down for a kiss, lips soft and clinging. Hadrian thinks he can feel his spouse's arousal rising again in just the way his tongue slides along his own, the way his shapely thighs flex, the way he drapes himself over Hadrian. His mussed hair ripples in a pale cascade of silk around them. The fragrance of his hair products is an aromatic experience that has the darker spouse relaxing in his seat, eyes drifting shut in contentment.

In tiny rolling undulations, Lucius' lower body progressively graduates from contentedly cockwarming his husband to actively rocking and riding his twitching erection. Slender arms circle around Hadrian's shoulders. Likewise, Hadrian coils his own around his partner's more slender waist and back. Sweet and tender, exchanging reverent kisses that never intensify, but in no way lack in passion or leave room for doubt just how much they love and adore each other.

Lucius had just successfully worked himself up to a lovely, sustainable rhythm when, with the quickest knock and not even a couple seconds of a pause to wait for a response—not asking permission to enter, just announcing the intention to do so—Hadrian's office door swings open almost dramatically, just barely avoiding damaging the wally beside it.

Lucius flinches in surprise. Hadrian bucks his hips to keep him from coming to a stop, doing a little grind that rubs over both his cocklet and his clitoris. The blond buries his face in the curved juncture of where Hadrian's neck and shoulder meet.

Hadrian's magic stood poised, ready to strike the intruder, heavy in the air and permeating the walls.

Lo and behold, there stands Severus Snape, looking thunderous as he scowls at Hadrian and very carefully not looking at where the spouses' bodies are connected in the throws of coital bliss. Lucius' pace falters for a moment, but Hadrian's hands urge him to keep going.

“No no, love, Snape is intruding in a room uninvited and unannounced in my private office. Don't stop on his account,” he whispers in encouragement, glaring at Snape over the delicate, pale shoulder. That's all it takes for Lucius to pick up his original pace, clenching down around the flesh impaling him over and over with feverish desire.

“I knocked,” Snape defends with a sneer, petulant. “Your deviancy should have ended once you became aware of my presence.”

“Your presence does not dictate my chosen behavior,” Hadrian snipes back. “This is my office in my home, and it has always been a rule of thumb that if my personal office has a closed door, it means I am otherwise occupied and not open to interruptions barring any emergency situations. You have the unfortunate penchant for disrespecting me in my own home, and while you did in fact knock, you hardly gave enough time to allow for a response before you barged in here. I somehow doubt you would be stupid enough to do this to my father, so it isn't an intelligence issue, it's a respect issue.”

How he keeps his voice level and steady through it all when his husband is doing such a fantastic job riding him is beyond him. Especially given he also is very irritated. Perhaps it is a work of his magic, even though he hasn't sensed its tell-tale flare. He caresses Lucius' back idly and cups the soft, bouncing breasts brushing his chest and lower half of his face, effectively hiding them from Snape's view.

“Perhaps you should limit your sexual demands to more appropriate times and locations instead of using my friend as a pleasure slave,” Snape drawls contemptuously.

Rage threatens to swallow him, but he refrains at the feel of a kiss on his neck. “My sexual demands? I have no need to demand what is freely given, and I am not always the one to ask. In fact, I believe we are evenly matched, Lucius and I. And in case you have forgotten, Lucius literally needs to have sex, unless you have finally successfully found a cure for his affliction.”

“You know I have not.” It's snarled through gritted teeth, nearly gnashed. Hadrian half expects to see foam at the corners of his mouth.

“What do you want, Severus?” Lucius snaps, clearly having become agitated with the continued intrusion. He picks his face up out of Hadrian's neck and scowls over at his friend. Hadrian can't help the satisfaction that coils in his chest at the displeasure in his tone. “If you're only here to antagonize my husband and insult me by implying I'm a sex slave, then you can leave. It would be preferable, actually, since your presence isn't exactly making this a pleasurable experience.”

Snape's expression twists, like there is something distasteful on his tongue. “No, I didn't come here just to antagonize.”

“Then get on with it.” He swivels his hips in a filthy grind, one that makes Hadrian swallow down a flood of saliva and groan roughly, pinching Lucius' nipples in silent retaliation.

“What did you do to Lord Malfoy?” Severus inquires sharply.

“Severus!”

“I need to know! Riddle has—”

“He is your Lord, Severus Tobias Snape, and my husband. You will speak to and of him with respect!”

“I need to know what he did to your father,” Snape insists mulishly. “We need to question him, but the man is catatonic. He was found drooling and sitting in his own excrement, and he doesn't respond to outside stimulus or questioning.”

“What a shame,” Hadrian drawls, one hand curling around Lucius' little cock, hidden between their bodies, to rub and caress, even if it doesn't stiffen the same as a normal penis would.

“What did you do, and can it be reversed? Even the Dark Lord's Legilimency has proved fruitless.”

“I locked him in the memories of the things he forced on Lucius,” Hadrian confesses, pressing kisses to his lover's bared throat, feeling the vibration of trapped, suppressed moans against his lips. He revels in the feel of them.

Lucius rides him a little faster, as if further aroused by the idea of his father suffering for his crimes. “You did that for me?” he asks breathlessly, eyes sparkling in delight and awe and devotion.

“I would do far worse for you, my darling,” he confirms, stealing a kiss from sweet lips. “Especially if you asked.”

“Can it be undone?” Snape presses, sounding like he is nearing the end of his patience.

“Of course it can. I'll come down and release the fool from his well-deserved nightmare after I have fully satisfied my lovely spouse.”

“That's your cue to go away, Severus,” Lucius points out in a tone Hadrian can't remember hearing form the beautiful blond prior to now. “Oh, and by the way, I no long wish to return to my old body. Just focus on trying to find a cure to the potion that has turned me to an incubus, understand?”

Something like alarm crosses the sallow-faced man's severe features. “What? But Lucius, surely you don't want—”

“I have become quite attached to my new form, Severus. I would have liked to have received it by far more pleasant means than I did, but the beauty of it and the pleasure it brings me and my husband outweighs the bad, so I wish to keep it. You have no say in the matter.” His voice is firm and consistent through his whole speech. Not once does he lose pace, wet pussy sliding up and down the pole of Hadrian's manhood like a practiced whore.

“If...if that is truly what you desire...”

“It is. And Hadrian, although he is sure to reap the benefits, has no say in my decision, so don't you dare corner him later. This is my decision.”

“Very well.” Severus sighs in defeat. Without another word, or even another look at Hadrian, he departs, locking and closing the office door pointedly.

“Assertive Lucius is a beautiful look on you,” Hadrian purrs into soft lips, tongue swiping across them. “And thank you for standing up for me, too.”

The blond smiles and nuzzles into Hadrian's cheek, peppering kisses all along his face. “I love you, and I'm not going to let anyone slander you, even if they are my oldest friend. If your father decides he has had enough, I'm not saving him or his apprenticeship.”

A burst of pride wells up at those words, and Hadrian drags Lucius into a deep, filthy kiss. Their hips begin to slam into each other, moving almost in perfect sync. They rock and grind, and Lucius bounces while Hadrian drills his hips up to meet him.

“You're going to come inside me and plug me up,” Lucius mutters, breathless and eager. “And then, once we've rested, and you find new trousers, we're going to go downstairs, and you're going to end your spell on my father. I'm going to show him just how happy I am, and when the Dark Lord is done with him, you're going to put him right back in the hell he created, intending it for me.”

“Of course, my love. Demanding little thing.” Hadrian pants, heat sparking in his loins with every vicious demand spilling from those gorgeous lips. “Anything you want more.” And he means it. From the bottom of his heart, he would set everything he knows and loves ablaze to make Lucius happy, and he'd do it with a smile on his face and joy in his soul.

Torturing Abraxas Malfoy, after everything he'd done t hurt and humiliate his own child? Small potatoes. Not even the tip of an iceberg of what Hadrian is willing to do, Healer's oath be damned.

This kind of protectiveness and extremism is definitely what he inherited from Da, and the less sane side of the Black family. He can't bring himself to be upset about it, either.

“I'd like a reward afterwards, my darling,” Hadrian murmurs, lips against panting lips, kissing even as he speaks.

“Anything, Hadrian, my love,” Lucius swears, voice a whisper, breath hitching the closer they get to climax.

“I want to taste you. I've dreamt about getting my mouth on your pretty little cunt. I want to suck the cum out of you so I can replace it with fresh.”

Lucius groans and shudders, and he wordlessly nods in agreement. His arm clutch tighter around Hadrian, and lust spikes through him at the promise.

They meet completion almost simultaneously, Lucius' head thrown back and Hadrian's teeth biting into the pale column of his exposed throat, tasting the hint of sweat there. True to his word, he dumps his load deep inside Lucius, enough to pooch out his belly just the tiniest bit so it's noticeable if Lucius wears tighter clothes or forgoes concealing robes. His magic swells and solidifies into a plug as Hadrian pulls out so not a drop of semen is lost, sealing it away. Lucius croons happily, rubbing his stomach with satisfaction and wonder.

When they re-dress, Lucius does indeed forgo the robes and insists that the collar of his chosen top be pulled down to expose some cleavage. He gleefully refuses to hide any of the lovebites, and a dark and possessive pleasure curls through Hadrian's chest. Despite the smallest refresher charms, it is obvious what they just finished doing, and neither of them had an ounce of shame.

Fingers linked, bodies pressed close, they head out of the office and toward the dungeons.