Author's Note: All characters & places belong to JKR & Warner Bros. This story was written for Rube in a grand total of 52 minutes, in exchange for the wonderful Marcel/Draco 'Gorge' spin-off. Thanks to Kissaki and 'The Great Escape' for inspiration – in a watery way. This is set in the Snitch Sequence world.. but it isn't part of the real series. I think it would take more than a cheesecake or two to make Draco get over L/H. I was wondering before I wrote this why people love my Narcissa and Lucius so much. Suddenly.. I see why. 'Water soluble' indeed.

Stoat Me

Lucius/Harry PWP - for Rube

By Libertine

       

Afterwards, Harry would wonder exactly how he'd been coerced into playing a part in that torrid little affair. The draught of Mr. Aspen's High Sex Drive potion had naturally played a large part in Harry's determination processes. Telling the difference between right and wrong was exceptionally difficult when your cock was suffering the overwhelming urge to insert itself into anything that moved. But it would be all too simple to put it down to magics and spells, and thus dispell his feelings of guilt. He had to face it.

Harry Malfoy had done a bad thing. 

And was currently still doing it.

"Oh.. oh.. god," he moaned, tangling lengths of blonde hair about his fingers, his body arching in the throes of potion-induced passion. He whimpered, he howled, he pressed his face into the niche of someone else's neck and wept like a baby. "Oh my oh my," he babbled senselessly, in the grip of the aphrodesiac, as someone's nails tore down his spine, biting, hungry.

"Yessss, you little smut kitten," his partner drawled, huskily. "Do me like a monkey, honey. Stoat me! I need to be stoated!"

Even when drugged out of his brain, Harry could still recognise that this comment was verging on severe weirdness. "Whu-wh- eh," he squinted myopically at the blurred, pale face infront of him, trying to work out if they were joking. Then he realised it didn't matter. Obliging as always, he panted out: "Okay. Ohh.."

"Fuck me like a gerbil," his partner instructed. "Hump me like a whale. Beach me, darling. I need to be beached. Oh. Yes. Fuck. Yes."

"Er.."

"Don't you dare stop. You will continue, bitch."

"But.." He could get no further. His partner dug their nails into his scalp and brought his head down to level with their own. Their lips were a pink smear as they hissed at him: "You know I can make it very, very painful for you if you disobey me, Potter."

"Um. Okay. I'm – er." Harry stumbled over his words, and then gave up and went back to shagging like a mad thing.

His partner was just in the middle of a screaming orgasm, and Harry felt as if his brains had drained into his balls and were readying themselves to explode all over the place, when the sound of another voice broke through their mutual squealings.

"Harry Malfoy."

Oh, crap.

Harry chanced a look over one sweaty shoulder, let out a terrified shreik, and bolted away. There was no where to run, though – the Malfoys' bedroom had only one entrance – if you didn't count the secret stairwell behind the bookcase which led straight to the dungeons. Harry grappled feverishly at the edges of the bookcase, trying very hard to remember which tome held the secret lever that would operate the necessary trapdoor. His efforts were to no avail, however. Panting, and half sobbing – and gently humping a nearby nightstand – he turned to face the music. 

The two Malfoys were staring at him, with slightly surprised expressions on their faces. 

"Sorry," Harry whimpered. "I'm really, really sorry.."

"Forgive me if I sound impertinent," Lucius cut in, "But I couldn't help but notice that you were just boning my wife."

"S-sorry.."

"Well, please don't let me bother you," said Lucius, calmly. "I just came in here to find a hair brush. Do continue."

With that he brushed past the startled Harry and continued toward the dresser. On the bed, Narcissa ran her fingers through her sweat-soaked blonde tresses, and moaned in a sultry fashion. Harry wanted desperately to pounce on her again, but Lucius' abstracted presence had put something of a damper on his magically-enhanced sex drive. 

So he humped the night stand instead. The little veela novelty lamp on the top turned on and off rapidly, then short circuited, sending out a series of sparks onto the bedspread. With comic good grace, the bedspread caught fire. Lucius, muttering something under his breath about exciteable young men, raised his wand and exinguished it.

"That was a very old bedspread, Harry," he said, sighing. "An antique."

"S-sorry.."

"My mother made it," Narcissa continued, examining her singed toes. "It was a family heirloom. She was a wonderful woman. Sorely missed. Much like the bedspread."

"I hated the fucking thing," said Lucius, passionately.

"You're still bitter because mother wouldn't let you wear a codpiece to our wedding," said Narcissa, shaking her head sadly. "I didn't think it matched your tuxedo, anyway. And I kept on tripping over it during the rehearsals."

"Only because I spent most of the rehearsals on my knees," said Lucius. "Which, as far as I can remember, was on your request."

"So very bitchy today, darling," said Narcissa. "I wonder why that could be." She hummed lightly under her breath, and then shifted up to the bedhead. Harry had noticed before that the bedhead was marred by a series of sharp engravings, so that the two bolsters looked as if they'd been bitten at by some rabid beaver. Narcissa pulled a small chisel out from behind a pillow, and – making sure Lucius was watching her – pressed it into the wood. Lucius sucked in a short breath as Narcissa made herself busy, carving out a new notch.

"There," she said. "We're even."

"For the first time in over thirty years," Lucius grated. "And Harry," he added, without looking up, "stop violating that potplant."

Harry sprung away, in a cloud of dirt, and looked rather ashamed with himself. Lucius hissed again between his teeth as Narcissa smiled, ever so primly, and skittered off the bed. Pushing her blonde hair from her eyes, she made a regal curtsey.

"Well, darling?" she said.

Lucius pressed one hand to his forehead. The other stole out and snared the luckless Harry by the upper arm. Harry let out a little yelp of surprise, and still clutching a handful of fern leaves, found himself sprawled out on the bed again. He whimpered, hopelessly – but it was fairly useless to struggle. Lucius' bionic arm could have pinioned an ox. And Harry didn't really want to get away, not in his present condition. If he'd been offered intimate relations with a stoat at this point, he would have accepted gracefully. In fact, even the smoking bedspread was looking fairly attractive.

"You know, I hate to have to do this," Lucius told his wife, as Harry wriggled in a wanton fashion against the bed.

"Oh, I can see that, love," she replied. "Though, really. As if James wasn't bad enough."

"Pot. Kettle. Both fucking black," Lucius told her, daintily hiking up his robes.

"I don't remember us having Sirius at the same time," said Narcissa, wrinkling her nose.

"Hey – Ow!" said Harry.

"Really? I'm quite certain we did," said Lucius. "Mmf. Or maybe that was Peter."

"Definately Peter. It was rather wonderful that he was an animagus, wasn't it? Rats are so much fun to play with."

"OW," said Harry.

"For you, perhaps. However, the idea of some small rodent playing about inside my orifices – well, it's not exactly my cup of tea."

"You're missing out, darling. There's nothing quite like the internal patter of tiny feet."

"OWWWWWW," said Harry.

Lucius gave Narcissa a particulary hard stare. "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," he told her, sternly.

"You can be so terribly prudish sometimes, love," said Narcissa.

"OWWW.  OWWWW. Ow ow ow ow. Hurt. OW. Hurt."

"By the way, dear, did you remember to tell the house elves to bring the washing in?" Lucius asked. "I'm fairly certain it's going to rain again."

"Oh, darn," said Narcissa. "It completely slipped my mind."

"FUCKING OW. OW. Ohh. OW. Hurt. Mm. Oh god.."

"The only reason I – ahem – ask is because I intend to wear that jacket to my meeting with Mrs. Crabbe later this afternoon," said Lucius. "Otherwise I have absolutely nothing to go with that horrible green tie she gave me for our last anniversary."

"I hate that tie," said Narcissa. "All those little wizards on it. I couldn't possibly think of anything more tasteless."

"Oh god. Oh fucking god. Oh OW. OW. Mmm."

"The only thing that comes close is Draco's latest obsession with puffy shirts," said Lucius. "They're hardly flattering on his figure. I would have imagined he'd have gone for as little puff as possible."

"I think he looks rather sweet in them, personally. Like a little round pirate. I nearly bought him a parrot the other day. It could curse in seven different languages, and hex in four. Marvellous, I thought."

"Oh yes. YES. Oh.. oh.. YES.. oh.. oh.. oh.."

The Malfoys stared blankly at each other for a minute over Harry's convulsing body. 

Then:

"It appears he's passed out from all the excitement," said Narcissa, running her fingers through Harry's dishevelled hair. "Poor little dear."

Lucius smirked, and indicated the bedhead with a finger. "If you will, my dear."

Shaking her head solemnly, Narcissa sighed. "I'm afraid it doesn't count," she said.

"Why the hell not?"

"You used the hair brush," Narcissa reasonably pointed out. "It wouldn't be fair. Now, if I were allowed to count every time I'd used an inanimate object to pleasure someone, well – I wouldn't have any bolster left."

Lucius growled. "Well, thank you very much for telling me this now," he snapped.

"I was rather enjoying watching," said Narcissa, with a slight, apologetic shrug of her slim shoulders. "And you know how I hate to cramp your style. But it's no matter. You can always try again." She gave Harry a smart pat on the cheek.

"But he's unconscious," said Lucius.

"When has that ever stopped you before?"

"Remember nineteen eighty two, and that nasty affair with the kraken?" Lucius asked her. "I'm certainly not going to risk that happening again. The Crabbes lost their favourite yacht when the damned thing started thrashing about."

"I told you once, I told you twice, that lubricant was water soluble," said Narcissa. "But did you listen? Noooo." She raised her hands in a despairing gesture. "Potter isn't exactly a kraken, though," she said.

Lucius appraised the man on his bed, and frowned. "No. Kraken he most definately isn't," he agreed. "Perhaps you're right."

His wife laughed, quietly. "You'll find, darling," she told him smoothly, "that I invariably am."

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