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themostepotenteAs promised, the second gift for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gmth for her work on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
merry_smutmas. If you are a bloodletting whore, this is your ficlet!
Enjoygmth!
Title: Razorblade Reflections
Pairing: LM/HP
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Bloodplay. Gratuitous cutting. Angst.
Disclaimer: Oh, so not mine. This market's been cornered.
It was cold on the floor. So very cold.
At the foot of Lucius Malfoy's bed, Harry Potter lay chained in a fetal position, knees to his chin. The links themselves were cold and burred, and his sensitive skin looked like a relief map plotted in angry red welts. The scar on his forehead, however, was nothing in comparison to the branding across his chest that read whore. The scar-tissue was toughened and raised, visible from across the room. It had been Lucius's intent to ruin him for any other that sought to lay their claim on the Boy Who Lived.
Though Snape would never cross Lucius Malfoy, he was not without his sympathy for Harry Potter. He found Lucius's iron-fisted rule unnecessary, choosing himself to conquer through trust rather than fear. Snape often brought Harry the means to challenge Lucius in a way that satisfied his own one true fetish; power exchange.
Since Snape was considered a trusted confidante, he came and went as he pleased, dropping by unexpectedly from time to time. On this particular night in question, he brought with him a few items to further his position of imposing middle-man. Sometime after Lucius had lain down for the night, Snape crept through his bedroom door, placing the items in Harry's outstretched hand: a phial of clear liquid and a double-edged razorblade. Harry looked up at Snape questioningly, but similar to Potions, this was his hurdle to stride unaided.
Harry was not allowed the luxuries of his Master's bed - not the cushion of pillow, nor the warmth of quilt. The nights were long and lonely...until he was called upon for duty. That his Master slept peaceably angered him, and so Harry fractured his Master's cardinal rule, climbing into bed with him. Lucius kept a glassful of water at his bedside. Hydration kept the skin youthful, and Lucius was obsessive-compulsive where his looks were concerned. Quietly crawling as far as the chains would allow, Harry poured the contents of the phial into the water, stirring it with a finger. Harry rolled the small, amber phial just under the bed, plucking the razorblade up between pinched fingers. He nestled between Lucius's legs, caressing his inner thighs with his facial stubble until he twitched involuntarily. His Master's cock stirred, springing to life. It snaked up his belly, oozing precome into the indent of his navel. Harry set the blade on the sheets beside him, spreading his fingers and pressing them against Lucius's groin, settling on his stomach. He forced his Master's legs further apart at the bend of the knee, the chain rattling between the manacles at his wrists.
In peaceful sleep therein lie dreams,
But all is never what it seems
For the reaper shall his scythe attend
Bleed your dream before the end...
Harry whispered this, alternating lines with breathing in the musky scent of his Master. He fastened his lips on the rigid seam of his ballsac, sucking in deeply before gliding his tongue over Lucius's throbbing shaft. Lucius moaned almost imperceptibly, balling the silken sheets in his fists. In one swift stroke, Harry lapped the pearly droplets of come that lingered at the opening, curling his tongue and molding the underside. Harry took the head between his lips, sliding his way down the length of his Master's prick. He didn't stop until he could feel the ramming of the tip at the back of his throat.
"Choke on it, slut."
Lucius had woken angered at his having been blatantly disobeyed. Taking Harry roughly by the ears, he forced him down as far as he would go and held him there.
"You slimed your way into my bed like a common whore. You are little more than a nameless, despoiled vessel. Now finish the job before I finish you!"
Lucius fucked Harry's mouth roughly, practically splitting the corners with his girth. The force of each thrust resulted in rasping gasps, and Harry was soon breathing through his nose to compensate. He wanted to lash out at the degradation, and so his nimble fingers quickly sought out the razorblade thought lost in the folds.
The glint of the metal caught Lucius's attention, and he went to grab Harry's wrist. "What's this? What have you got in your hand, slut?" Harry shifted the razorblade into his other hand, delighting in the game of keep-away before his Master confiscated it. Lucius held it up, his eyes narrowing. "Does the trollop enjoy cutting? Does its cock stiffen at the sight of blood? From whom did the slut get this?" Harry mashed his lips together. He would never tell. His insolence was rewarded with a savage backhand to his left cheek.
"Speak! Tell me his name, and I will reward your honesty."
"Draco", Harry quietly announced.
"My son? My son gave you this?"
Harry nodded solemnly. He bit his lip to keep from giving himself away. He hated Draco almost as much as he hated his father. Almost. The malevolent twinkle in Lucius's eye told Harry that Draco would be punished severely. He'd have given anything to be privy to the beating.
Using his thumb and index fingers, Lucius returned the razorblade to Harry, reclining. "So cut me, my sweet whore. Show your Master how a boy scorned enacts his vengeance." Lucius smiled haughtily at Harry, baiting him.
Harry hadn't wanted to surrender, but once he'd started, he'd found that he couldn't stop. His hand shaking, Harry made the first incision just below his Master's sternum, watching with utter fascination as the blood surfaced in dotted perforations. Tilting the blade upward, he continued downward to just shy of Lucius's groin. He snagged Harry's wrist again, squeezing. "You want to cut me there, don't you?" Harry didn't speak. "DONT YOU!" Lucius grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck and nodded for him - the puppetmaster controlling his marionette.
"Release those inner demons, slut. You haven't anything I cannot reverse. Do your worst." Lucius let go of Harry's wrist, allowing him to continue. The tip of the blade pierced his shaft lengthwise to the head, veins bleeding crimson channels. Lucius was in his glory, just as much the masochist as the sadist in the right hands. That his slave was a virgin to this excited him. Harry glimpsed his own reflection in the blade, seeing in him the personification of evil. It made him frenzied, cutting with greater fury. His cuts grew deeper, more pronounced, and his hatred had a hold on him like never before. Harry had etched something onto Lucius's chest to mirror his own stigma. The sheets beneath them both were drenched in blood, and when Lucius felt Harry had indulged his fantasy long enough, he wrenched the blade from his hand. He pulled Harry on top of him, sliding his body over his own. The feel of the blood was warm, like a soothing bath, and Harry began to grind his aching prick over that of his Master's.
"The slut wishes to come, does it? Taste of me. Taste of revenge. You'll find it shamefully palatable." Harry obliged, flicking his tongue over his Master's wounds. It was bitter, sweet and coppery, deliciously so. Forbidden fruit - but there would be a price for plucking this apple.
Lucius moved in tandem with Harry, entwining their legs. He pulled Harry's slim frame down on top of his, kneading his arse with bloodied hands. Harry had smeared his Master's blood past his collarbone, staining the pillowcase, fucking Lucius into the bed. The silken linens had gathered and pulled, exposing the mattress. Harry came first, his resolution untamed. Laying his face on Lucius's chest, the lenses of his glasses smudged, missing his Master's climax. Lucius shuddered beneath him, and the warm feeling was renewed. For just this one night, he allowed Harry to sleep beside him. Feeling dehydrated, Lucius drank the contents of his water-glass before succumbing to a deep sleep that only satiation brings.
The next morning, Harry found himself on the floor. His skin was stained a rusty red. The ends of his sooty locks were encrusted, and there was dried blood in the folds of his flaccid cock. Squinting, he glanced the nightstand and the glass, thinking back to the phial that Snape had given him. What had it been?
His Master had left him alone again, reading the daily mail in his study. Wearing a white chemise, Lucius noticed several red blots taking shape. He unbuttoned his shirt and let out a rather bloodcurdling string of obscenities.
"YOU WRETCHED FUCKING BRAT!"
Snarling, he found himself moving in front of the nearest mirror to confirm his findings. Harry had indeed carved into his Master's chest. The potion that Snape had given him the previous night was an anti-coagulation elixir. The wound had bled right through his clothing. It simply would not clot. Lucius made haste to his chambers, dragging Harry to his feet by his chains.
"Don't look so surprised, Master. I learned from you. I only ever learn from the best."
There, carved from right to left was a word:
gmth for her work on merry_smutmas. If you are a bloodletting whore, this is your ficlet!Enjoy
gmth!Title: Razorblade Reflections
Pairing: LM/HP
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Bloodplay. Gratuitous cutting. Angst.
Disclaimer: Oh, so not mine. This market's been cornered.
It was cold on the floor. So very cold.
At the foot of Lucius Malfoy's bed, Harry Potter lay chained in a fetal position, knees to his chin. The links themselves were cold and burred, and his sensitive skin looked like a relief map plotted in angry red welts. The scar on his forehead, however, was nothing in comparison to the branding across his chest that read whore. The scar-tissue was toughened and raised, visible from across the room. It had been Lucius's intent to ruin him for any other that sought to lay their claim on the Boy Who Lived.
Though Snape would never cross Lucius Malfoy, he was not without his sympathy for Harry Potter. He found Lucius's iron-fisted rule unnecessary, choosing himself to conquer through trust rather than fear. Snape often brought Harry the means to challenge Lucius in a way that satisfied his own one true fetish; power exchange.
Since Snape was considered a trusted confidante, he came and went as he pleased, dropping by unexpectedly from time to time. On this particular night in question, he brought with him a few items to further his position of imposing middle-man. Sometime after Lucius had lain down for the night, Snape crept through his bedroom door, placing the items in Harry's outstretched hand: a phial of clear liquid and a double-edged razorblade. Harry looked up at Snape questioningly, but similar to Potions, this was his hurdle to stride unaided.
Harry was not allowed the luxuries of his Master's bed - not the cushion of pillow, nor the warmth of quilt. The nights were long and lonely...until he was called upon for duty. That his Master slept peaceably angered him, and so Harry fractured his Master's cardinal rule, climbing into bed with him. Lucius kept a glassful of water at his bedside. Hydration kept the skin youthful, and Lucius was obsessive-compulsive where his looks were concerned. Quietly crawling as far as the chains would allow, Harry poured the contents of the phial into the water, stirring it with a finger. Harry rolled the small, amber phial just under the bed, plucking the razorblade up between pinched fingers. He nestled between Lucius's legs, caressing his inner thighs with his facial stubble until he twitched involuntarily. His Master's cock stirred, springing to life. It snaked up his belly, oozing precome into the indent of his navel. Harry set the blade on the sheets beside him, spreading his fingers and pressing them against Lucius's groin, settling on his stomach. He forced his Master's legs further apart at the bend of the knee, the chain rattling between the manacles at his wrists.
But all is never what it seems
For the reaper shall his scythe attend
Bleed your dream before the end...
Harry whispered this, alternating lines with breathing in the musky scent of his Master. He fastened his lips on the rigid seam of his ballsac, sucking in deeply before gliding his tongue over Lucius's throbbing shaft. Lucius moaned almost imperceptibly, balling the silken sheets in his fists. In one swift stroke, Harry lapped the pearly droplets of come that lingered at the opening, curling his tongue and molding the underside. Harry took the head between his lips, sliding his way down the length of his Master's prick. He didn't stop until he could feel the ramming of the tip at the back of his throat.
"Choke on it, slut."
Lucius had woken angered at his having been blatantly disobeyed. Taking Harry roughly by the ears, he forced him down as far as he would go and held him there.
"You slimed your way into my bed like a common whore. You are little more than a nameless, despoiled vessel. Now finish the job before I finish you!"
Lucius fucked Harry's mouth roughly, practically splitting the corners with his girth. The force of each thrust resulted in rasping gasps, and Harry was soon breathing through his nose to compensate. He wanted to lash out at the degradation, and so his nimble fingers quickly sought out the razorblade thought lost in the folds.
The glint of the metal caught Lucius's attention, and he went to grab Harry's wrist. "What's this? What have you got in your hand, slut?" Harry shifted the razorblade into his other hand, delighting in the game of keep-away before his Master confiscated it. Lucius held it up, his eyes narrowing. "Does the trollop enjoy cutting? Does its cock stiffen at the sight of blood? From whom did the slut get this?" Harry mashed his lips together. He would never tell. His insolence was rewarded with a savage backhand to his left cheek.
"Speak! Tell me his name, and I will reward your honesty."
"Draco", Harry quietly announced.
"My son? My son gave you this?"
Harry nodded solemnly. He bit his lip to keep from giving himself away. He hated Draco almost as much as he hated his father. Almost. The malevolent twinkle in Lucius's eye told Harry that Draco would be punished severely. He'd have given anything to be privy to the beating.
Using his thumb and index fingers, Lucius returned the razorblade to Harry, reclining. "So cut me, my sweet whore. Show your Master how a boy scorned enacts his vengeance." Lucius smiled haughtily at Harry, baiting him.
Harry hadn't wanted to surrender, but once he'd started, he'd found that he couldn't stop. His hand shaking, Harry made the first incision just below his Master's sternum, watching with utter fascination as the blood surfaced in dotted perforations. Tilting the blade upward, he continued downward to just shy of Lucius's groin. He snagged Harry's wrist again, squeezing. "You want to cut me there, don't you?" Harry didn't speak. "DONT YOU!" Lucius grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck and nodded for him - the puppetmaster controlling his marionette.
"Release those inner demons, slut. You haven't anything I cannot reverse. Do your worst." Lucius let go of Harry's wrist, allowing him to continue. The tip of the blade pierced his shaft lengthwise to the head, veins bleeding crimson channels. Lucius was in his glory, just as much the masochist as the sadist in the right hands. That his slave was a virgin to this excited him. Harry glimpsed his own reflection in the blade, seeing in him the personification of evil. It made him frenzied, cutting with greater fury. His cuts grew deeper, more pronounced, and his hatred had a hold on him like never before. Harry had etched something onto Lucius's chest to mirror his own stigma. The sheets beneath them both were drenched in blood, and when Lucius felt Harry had indulged his fantasy long enough, he wrenched the blade from his hand. He pulled Harry on top of him, sliding his body over his own. The feel of the blood was warm, like a soothing bath, and Harry began to grind his aching prick over that of his Master's.
"The slut wishes to come, does it? Taste of me. Taste of revenge. You'll find it shamefully palatable." Harry obliged, flicking his tongue over his Master's wounds. It was bitter, sweet and coppery, deliciously so. Forbidden fruit - but there would be a price for plucking this apple.
Lucius moved in tandem with Harry, entwining their legs. He pulled Harry's slim frame down on top of his, kneading his arse with bloodied hands. Harry had smeared his Master's blood past his collarbone, staining the pillowcase, fucking Lucius into the bed. The silken linens had gathered and pulled, exposing the mattress. Harry came first, his resolution untamed. Laying his face on Lucius's chest, the lenses of his glasses smudged, missing his Master's climax. Lucius shuddered beneath him, and the warm feeling was renewed. For just this one night, he allowed Harry to sleep beside him. Feeling dehydrated, Lucius drank the contents of his water-glass before succumbing to a deep sleep that only satiation brings.
The next morning, Harry found himself on the floor. His skin was stained a rusty red. The ends of his sooty locks were encrusted, and there was dried blood in the folds of his flaccid cock. Squinting, he glanced the nightstand and the glass, thinking back to the phial that Snape had given him. What had it been?
His Master had left him alone again, reading the daily mail in his study. Wearing a white chemise, Lucius noticed several red blots taking shape. He unbuttoned his shirt and let out a rather bloodcurdling string of obscenities.
"YOU WRETCHED FUCKING BRAT!"
Snarling, he found himself moving in front of the nearest mirror to confirm his findings. Harry had indeed carved into his Master's chest. The potion that Snape had given him the previous night was an anti-coagulation elixir. The wound had bled right through his clothing. It simply would not clot. Lucius made haste to his chambers, dragging Harry to his feet by his chains.
"Don't look so surprised, Master. I learned from you. I only ever learn from the best."
There, carved from right to left was a word:
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Date: 2004-02-22 05:16 pm (UTC)