Secret Society (R; Xenophilius/Lucius; 550 words): Lucius' curiosity isn't satisfied in quite the manner he intends.
"A Ravenclaw, Lovegood?" Lucius asks, falling into step with Xenophilius as he leaves the Great Hall and makes for the stairs.
"Xanthia's fascinating—and I like her mouth. What's your excuse?"
"You've seen Bella's tits, surely."
Lovegood snorts. "Breasts fall. Mental is forever."
"She's a Black."
"Which won't matter when she turns shrew," Lovegood retorts, idly playing with the amulet he's wearing.
He's always wearing it; Lucius wants to know why. "She won't turn shrew, not with me."
"And why is that, oh great Petruchio?"
Lucius turns in front of Lovegood abruptly as they achieve the halfpace and presses one hand to the wall to block his way. "Because my powers of . . . persuasion," he says, his fingers sliding through Lovegood's to grasp the amulet, "are strong."
"You'd be with her instead of pestering me if that were true."
Lovegood's lips are so close to Lucius' own that he can almost taste them. And he wants to, but he thinks that Lovegood is probably more interested in a snog than he is, which means that he has something with which to barter.
"Am I 'pestering' you?"
"Not hard enough."
"I could be," Lucius replies, manoeuvring them into a nearby alcove and pressing himself against his house mate. "I could be very hard for you . . . if you'd loan me your locket."
Lovegood rolls his eyes and squeezes Lucius' prick through his trousers. "You're already hard, Malfoy, but you're not worth what my ingratitude would mean to my lord."
Lucius pulls back, just. "What are you talking about?"
Lovegood smiles, and his unsettlingly bulging eyes seem to throb in time with Lucius' cock as he says, "If you were as . . . connected as you claim, you'd know. Perhaps I'll mention to Father before his next meeting that you're not."
Lucius gapes at Lovegood for a moment, not quite believing his implication—and not wanting to free his cock from Lovegood's talented fingers.
"You're such a rude little slut," Lovegood says, speeding his strokes and pressing his lips to Lucius' ear, "but you'll make it up to me, won't you?"
Lucius whimpers in lust and in spite of his anger. Father said nothing about gifts. "What . . . what do you want?" He hates himself for asking, but Lovegood isn't one to lie, and if he is in Lord Voldemort's favour, it would be foolish to offend him. No wonder Father ordered me to stay away from Lovegood.
"Don't speak of my amulet again."
"Won't," Lucius chokes out, as he feels his bollocks tightening.
"And be waiting for me in the changing room showers in ten minutes," Lovegood says, abruptly releasing Lucius and leaving the alcove. "I like your mouth, too."
For all Malfoy's no doubt Nargle-induced posturing, it's clear to Xenophilius, as it isn't to Professor Dumbledore, that while Malfoy may be in sympathy with this "Lord Voldemort," he's not yet one of his initiates. More importantly to Xenophilius, Malfoy obviously knows nothing of the Hallows.
I don't know why Dumbledore's so worried about these Death Eaters, he thinks. Let them have their hateful little club and their secret, disorganised meetings. They can't do much damage faffing about towards the promise of eternity when they have no idea of what true power is, and the only thing Malfoy's going to be eating until term's end is my prick.