Chapter Text
Thirty-three days since Astoria's birthday. Fifty-seven days since his office. Seventy days since the lake. Ninety-five days since the hallway. Lucius repeated the numbers in his head one after the other. A neat list of every infraction. And tonight: zero days. Another line added to the ledger for Draco and Astoria's All Hallows' Eve gala.
Rowan Darrington was here. He was dressed as something ridiculous and muggle and Lucius hated it... Even if he didn't want to admit that the pants were rather tight and the green shirt and cape made his eyes look even brighter. The helmet had two long curved horns and gold accents were on everything. Gaudy, bold fake gold accents that shone in the candlelight.
Scorpius loved it, of course. Rowan was bouncing the seven year old on his hip, smiling down at him. Scorpius had dressed up as a calico cat that looked remarkably like Rowan's familiar. "Loki! Loki! Loki!" Lucius had finally drifted close enough in the grand room that Astoria had precisely decorated to catch what Scorpius was chanting as Rowan bounced him.
"And you're Peony," Rowan said, ruffling Scorpius's hair. His grandson had managed to convince one of his parents — Lucius remained unsure which — to dye his hair in undignified splotches of black and brown. He had whiskers painted on his face and wore a patterned outfit in the same colours as his hair.
It truly was an awful All Hallows' Eve gala. Narcissa's events had always been dignified, formal. Respectable. Now, half the attendants were dressed in familiar wizard robes while the other half were dressed in ridiculous costumes. Lucius wrinkled his nose and took another drink of his mulled wine. His eyes inevitably drifted over the pumpkins, spiderwebs, and dried roses that decorated the tables of food, and ended up back on Rowan Darrington, bane of his existence.
The brash American was explaining Loki to Scorpius, who was enraptured. He was also getting it all wrong. Where in Salazar's name had he learned about Norse mythology? Clearly, the education system across the Atlantic had suffered a severe decline in quality over the decades. Lucius sniffed, glancing once more over the guests. Everything from pumpkins, vampires, to overdone witches and wizards.
And why in Merlin's name did everything glitter?
Lucius circled around the edge of the room, moving closer to a window to peer outside it. A full moon. Auspicious. He relaxed his shoulders slightly, listening to the haunting music as guests danced, the heady warmth of spiced wine easing the tension in his body.
All Hallows' Eve had always been a bit of a boon to him. It was a somber holiday, one to remember those lost and celebrate the thinning of the veil between life and death. Lucius could relate to that; he often felt he spent much of his life walking that particular line. Between his association with the Dark Lord over the decades and his precarious rise and fall within the Ministry, Lucius walked a tightrope.
He didn't need to look to know it was Rowan standing beside him; he could smell that same hint of wool and lavender he always seemed to carry. Lucius kept his eyes on the moon, gripping his goblet tightly, the pop of white knuckles flashing in the pale light. "Mr. Darrington."
"Luci." Rowan's voice was light and playful as usual.
Lucius exhaled slowly, his patience already razor-thin from the audacity of this blasted gala. His eyes moved slowly down to take in the younger man; the ridiculous costume, the confident smile, the goblet of pumpkin juice held loosely in his hand. Of course. He wasn't even drinking the wine. He was drinking the pumpkin juice, which Astoria had included for the children.
Lucius couldn't fight the tug of a frown pulling the sides of his mouth down slightly. Rowan's eyes followed Lucius's gaze to the offensive pumpkin drink and he lifted it in a mock salute before taking a drink. "I don't drink," he said, tone neutral.
Lucius made a vague sound of disapproval. "I can... Respect the dedication, if not the action itself," he said finally. Self-control was a valuable asset in a person, even if Rowan was exercising it in a manner that Lucius deemed unworthy.
The silence sat between them as the sound of the gala filled the room. Children running and laughing, Peony's occasional loud trill of play, the music from the live band. Conversation rose and fell in a crescendo that was ultimately familiar to Lucius; he'd spent much of his life at gatherings such as this, even if it was considerably more tawdry than he was used to.
"So." Rowan broke the silence, causing Lucius to look at him. "Want to pull me into that dark corner and fuck me until you feel better?"
Lucius fumbled his glass, only barely managing to catch it. He stared, mouth slightly open, at the American wizard. Speechless. Never in his life had he been propositioned like this, so brazenly, and by a man, no less. In public. In his own home. The instances that made this feel truly bizarre continued rattling through Lucius's mind, before he finally clamped down on them firmly.
"You want me to fuck you in that dark corner?" Lucius asked carefully, his eyes flicking to the corner Rowan had gestured to so casually.
Rowan's smile was lazy and a little lopsided. His eyes twinkled with amusement that Lucius couldn't quite dismiss. "Yes, that is what I suggested." He tilted his head, the curved horns catching light from the moon filtering through the window panes and casting a strange shadow behind Rowan.
He had managed to completely disarm Lucius. The Malfoy patriarch looked baffled. "Does that... Does that actually work?" he asked, the words slow and measured.
"More often than you'd think," Rowan quipped cheerfully, that same smile still pulling his lips up and making his face look younger.
Lucius's face softened slightly in surprise and unwilling amusement. Youth these days, he thought caustically to himself. He shook his head, as if he could scatter the words from his mind. "I have no interest in a.... sordid engagement in a dark corner, Mr. Darrington," Lucius drawled, contempt leaking through the words.
Rowan tapped his fingers before his grin widened as he leaned closer. "So you'd prefer a 'sordid engagement' in a more private location, then?" He widened his eyes, as if they were in on a secret together.
Which, Lucius supposed, they were.
"I—" Lucius cut himself off. The truth of it was... he did want a sordid engagement with Rowan elsewhere. He'd had enough fantasies of spreading all that freckled skin out on his desk, or across his bed, or on a blanket in front of the hearth, that he could almost pretend it was real and not imagined. Abruptly, Lucius turned, squeezing his goblet and walking around the edge of the grand hall, knuckles white along the delicate stem.
Rowan would follow or he wouldn't, Lucius thought to himself, his leather dragon-hide boots snapping a quick tempo along the marble floors. He passed his study, plush rugs softening his footsteps as he finally pulled open his quarter's door. The sitting room looked much like his study — dark wood, lush fabrics, velvet and bold splashes of emerald green to contrast with black and charcoal grey. Formal. Reputable. What one would expect from the Malfoy patriarch.
Dignified, he thought to himself, as he surveyed his space. Three doors led to his connected rooms: his bedroom, a small personal library with a desk to work at, and an expansive bathroom. A backdoor opened outside the manor to a balcony that overlooked a small garden.
Lucius set his drink on a side table, not looking over his shoulder. He could finally hear the whisper of fabric behind him. Rowan had followed him after all. Lucius tugged at his robes, loosening the neck and pulling it open.
He turned, expecting to find Rowan, yet it still shocked him to find the younger wizard in his personal sitting room. That ridiculous outfit clashed horribly with the formal decor; his clothing's shade of green was too yellow to match his rich emerald colour scheme. It was an absent thought, and calculated. He looked up and down over the outfit, the silky material shining in the low light. "Strip," he said, voice flat and demanding.
Rowan looked up from the bookshelf he'd been inspecting, his eyes laughing, crinkled around the sides and his lips tilting up slightly. "Yes, Luci," he teased, pulling the obnoxious horned headband off his head and dropping it into the chair angled to face the hearth.
Lucius watched each piece of clothing come off, his heart racing even as he kept his own actions smooth and controlled. He pulled off his own robe, eyes focused on Rowan's stomach and chest as he eased the shirt up and off before dropping it into a pile on the chair. It was autumn, and yet Rowan's skin was still sun-kissed, warmed by the smattering of freckles.
Lucius had the impulsive urge to trace his finger along them, to find the constellations he knew by heart in the landscape of Rowan's skin. The smell of spiced wine and a hint of wood smoke lingered in the room as Lucius watched silently.
Rowan had a certain grace about him; he never seemed to care when Lucius demanded his nudity. There was a particular confidence the younger man radiated, a certain feeling of self-acceptance that Lucius was fascinated by. Most people were unsettled by being naked, especially on behalf of someone else's command. But Rowan just obeyed, slipping his trousers (which were distressingly tight as far as Lucius was concerned) off, revealing swaths of unmarred skin.
Rowan's clothing sat in a pile on the ornate leather chair and he stood gloriously, defiantly naked before the fire, backlit and stunning. Lucius swallowed, stepping forward before he knew he was going to, his hand wrapping around Rowan's neck, thumb unerringly settling on his pulse point.
He didn't ask or demand; Lucius took. He bent to kiss Rowan, slanting his mouth over his, possessive and demanding, his tongue seeking access as his other hand slid into that frustratingly messy brown hair, tilting his head at exactly the right angle.
The puff of exhale from a swallowed whine only spurred Lucius on. How was it that every time he interacted with Rowan, the difference in them was so stark? Rowan's tanned skin, warmed by the fire. Compared to Lucius's own pale skin, Rowan really was the sun. Even in the dark of All Hallows' Eve, Rowan glowed.
Was this just lust? Or was this worship? Lucius, both god and sinner, felt every tangled bit of lust and worship spiraling up his spine as he slid his hands down Rowan's shoulder, side, resting at his hip and tugging him closer. Electric.
Whatever it was, Lucius was ready to give into it. In this moment, it could consume him for all he cared. A guttural groan tore from his throat as he turned to face the bed, bringing Rowan with him. He backed Rowan up to the bed, breaking the kiss only to lift him onto the edge. His eyes were glued to Rowan as the younger wizard scooted back. His arousal was already standing, thick, leaning slightly to the side and bouncing against him as Rowan settled himself in the middle of the bed.
There was no grace in his own disrobing. He needed Rowan, he needed to own him and every sound of pleasure he could wring from him. After so many sleepless nights in this very bed imagining Rowan here, he finally was. And Lucius intended to take his time.
If Rowan was the altar, Lucius intended to worship like the devoted servant he was. "I am going to fuck you thoroughly now, Mr. Darrington," Lucius murmured, stalking closer to the bed as the last of his formal robes dropped to the floor.
"Such language, Luci," Rowan chided, his eyebrows raising.
Lucius followed the snarky curve of Rowan's lips, that pert little smile sending a thrill straight to his own cock. Lucius climbed onto the bed, pressing Rowan's legs apart as he moved, wrapping his hands around his calves, squeezing slightly. Rowan, for all his teasing and mischief, was pliant.
The spark of desire reflecting in Rowan's eyes was a match to tinder. Ninety-five days. This had been building, churning, throwing more wood into the bonfire. Finally, Lucius could touch the sun. Icarus, you fool, he thought to himself as he traced his hands up Rowan's calves, dipping around the smooth knees, and digging into his thighs, pressing his legs wider.
Perfection. Rowan's pale freckled skin against his dark silk sheets, naked and waiting. That little knowing smirk still pulling at his lips as if he knew a secret. Impulsively, intent on catching the smug, confident American off-balance, Lucius leaned down, licking a solid stripe from the base of Rowan's cock up to the tip, taking a moment to lick the bit of pre-cum beading at the tip.
Rowan hissed, his hands clenching into the sheets, twisting them as his hips lifted instinctually, seeking more. Lucius hummed to himself. "Patience, boy," Lucius purred, enjoying the twitch and bob of Rowan's cock.
Rowan growled, as Lucius had known he would. He prided himself on figuring out the best methods to rile up the younger wizard. "I'm not a boy, Luci."
"Very well," Lucius conceded, pulling a small bottle of oil from his bedside table to slick his fingers. With slow, focused intent, he traced his finger around the rim of Rowan's hole, before carefully slipping a single finger in. "You are not a 'boy', Mr. Darrington. But you are mine." He couldn't keep the pleased tone from his voice as he worked his finger in half way, twisting to softly rub at the delicate bundle of nerves, making Rowan jump and twitch.
Rowan's legs tried to instinctually close, which Lucius only pressed open wider, splaying his own knees to lock Rowan's legs into place. Open, vulnerable, and most definitely his. Everything Lucius wanted was right here, clenching around his finger and keening as Lucius massaged Rowan's inner-thigh with his other hand.
"Tell me, Mr. Darrington, have you thought of this before? Being in my bed? Being under me?" Lucius's voice was idle in tone, but a heat threaded through it.
"N-never," Rowan groaned, arching his hips up as Lucius bent to take the tip of Rowan's cock into his mouth.
Lucius sucked firmly and pulled back, watching the smallest string of saliva from his mouth to the curve of Rowan's cock try to form. "Never?" He huffed incredulously. "You've never touched yourself in your bed, wishing it was my hand?" Lucius lowered his mouth to once again take Rowan in, welcoming him with a swift lick of his tongue along the sensitive base of the head.
"Fuck, Luci," Rowan keened, his hips rolling up. Lucius adjusted his fingers, slipping another inside of Rowan, humming as the muscles clenched around him. Americans. They really did have such filthy mouths. Lucius would never admit it, but... it was reasonably attractive. When he was the reason for it, at least.
Lucius worked more of Rowan into his mouth, suctioning his cheeks and working in time with his fingers, gently curling and stretching him, easing him into it. He wanted Rowan to feel every inch of him as pure pleasure.
Every gasp, every whimper, every noise Rowan made was absolute pure joy for Lucius. The harsh whisper and guttural groans of his name — even if it was that frustrating diminutive that he had not at all become fond of — was like a deity praising his favored follower.
And Lucius was nothing if not devout in his efforts.
By the time he'd worked Rowan open with three fingers, he could feel how on edge he was. Rowan's hips were bucking and squirming, his breath rapid, his eyes a little glassy. His fingers had twisted into the expensive blankets and Lucius could feel his thigh muscles tense and twitch. He pulled back with a loud pop, humming. He was pleased with his efforts.
The sheen of sweat on Rowan's brow only accentuated how pale his skin was. "Did you need something?" He asked innocently, pulling his fingers out to retrieve the oil once again. He slicked himself with a thin swipe, just to be sure, and adjusted his hips. He was so hard, so ready to be inside Rowan.
Rowan was swearing, trying to press his legs together as his hips drove into the air helplessly for friction. "God dammit, Luci," he growled, neck bared as he arched his head back into the pillows.
"Patience, Mr. Darrington," he purred, shifting to lift one of Rowan's legs over his shoulder. "Good things come to those who wait."
Rowan's dark mutters were cut off abruptly as Lucius eased the head of his cock into Rowan. Rowan groaned, his muscles clenching around Lucius who immediately gasped. So warm and slick and perfect. Lucius inched himself forward, watching Rowan's face. His green eyes were shadowed in the dimly lit room, but they were locked onto Lucius's.
Lucius squeezed Rowan's thigh and pressed in further, shuddering. He wasn't just trying Rowan's patience with this speed. When his hips finally tapped Rowan's, he exhaled heavily, watching with a lazy smirk as Rowan's hand moved down to stroke himself lazily. "Good boy," he said softly, watching as Rowan's freckled fingers wrapped around his cock, the way he squeezed near the tip and lifted his hips against Lucius. "Don't come," Lucius warned, pulling back before pressing back into Rowan in a smooth, single motion.
The hiss from Rowan was almost as satisfying as the feel. "That's it, take all of me." Lucius adjusted his balance, widening the placement of his hand on the bed and starting a slow rhythm. The contrast of his thrusts timed with Rowan's strokes was intoxicating.
The heady scent of spiced wine, sex, and wood smoke curled around Lucius as he increased his pace, his heart starting to jump as he grunted against Rowan. "So good for me," he murmured.
"God, fuck, Luci, do-don't stop," Rowan pleaded, eyes squeezing shut briefly as he bit his lip, a choked groan forced from his lungs as Lucius changed his angle, shallowing his thrusts to grind against Rowan's prostate.
"Never," Lucius promised, "going to give you everything." His eyes were heavy-lidded as he watched Rowan, watched every flutter of his eyelashes, dark against his pale skin, every hitching breath, every straining press of his neck.
The orgasm was building rapidly, winding his muscles tighter as he moved faster, burying himself deep with each thrust. "That's it, come for me Rowan, right now," he demanded, "do it." His voice was sharp, cracking with his own pleasure and strain as he pushed into him twice more, deep, trembling thrusts as he spilled his cum into Rowan, watching as Rowan fell apart beneath him.
Rowan's leg tense against his shoulder, his body bowing up as he orgasmed, the clenching and tensing around Lucius making him groan as Rowan milked the last bit of pleasure from his shuddering form. The room was filled with the sound of their pants and gasps, beating hearts and the low murmur of the crackling fireplace on the far wall.
Carefully, Lucius pulled himself out of Rowan, lowering Rowan's leg gently and massaging it. He moved to grab his wand, flicking it with a quick spell for clean up before Rowan got any ideas about using clothing as rags.
Rowan hadn't moved. His eyes were half-closed, sleepy and content as he watched Lucius clean up. "Satisfied?" Rowan's voice was thick and rough. Lucius was pleased to hear the lingering pleasure in it.
"Very," Lucius said, stretching out alongside Rowan and tracing a finger over his sternum. "A most... eventful All Hallows' Eve," he said, unable to keep a small smirk from curling his lips upward.
Rowan huffed, skin shivering and pebbling under Lucius's light touch. "We should get back to the party," he said after a while.
Lucius paused, his hand freezing over Rowan's collarbone. "No." The word was definitive and brooked no argument. "I think we will stay right here." Lucius turned, looking up at Rowan. "Unless you'd... rather not," he said, voice stiff and cultured.
"Mmm. I could... get used to silk sheets, I guess," Rowan said, shifting to wiggle under the blankets. Lucius helped him, settling under the blanket. Rowan rolled onto his side, his back pressing against Lucius's chest.
Lucius's breath hitched. He was staying. The frustrating, cursed American was... staying. Curling up in his bed like he belonged here. Like it was his. Lucius swallowed and bent to kiss Rowan's temple lightly. "Sleep, Rowan," he said softly, wrapping an arm around Rowan's waist and pulling him closer.
As Rowan's breathing evened out, Lucius watched the firelight dance on the walls as the fire burned lower. "Truly a remarkable All Hallows' Eve," he sighed, laying his head on the pillow. It had taken ninety-five days, but Lucius had finally managed to grab hold of the sun. And, as every Malfoy was, Lucius was a greedy moon: he had no intention of letting him go.
Icarus be damned. The folly was worth every burn. With that last fading thought, Lucius let sleep tug him under, lulled by the scent of sweat and lavender, his face buried in the crook of Rowan's neck.