Black Roses

by Eumenides

Malfoy handed his gloves and cane to one of the Death Eaters. "It was quite lovely, surely you remember? In the conservatory, I believe. I gave you your first whisky, and you gave me your virginity." From Aristeia

Light gleamed and glittered, reflected from the torches and candles onto the heavy cut crystal wineglasses. The remnants of the sumptuous feast had already been cleared, vanished magically to the kitchen where the house-elves would, presumable, do their efficient service. The massive dining room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place was an interior room, lined with tasteful landscapes and hoary old wizarding portraits – the room groaned under the weight of Tradition and Family.

Lucius Malfoy sipped his wine, surveying the assemblage of pureblood wizards and witches who had come to toast his engagement to Narcissa Black. His own parents were at the far end of the table from him, his father already moving beyond social chitchat to engage Orion and Alphard Black in a discussion of Ministry policies regarding Muggles. His mother, dripping with jewels and icy superiority, was staring vacantly at nothing whilst Malvolia Black, whom Lucius knew his mother considered an upstart, chattered about house-elves and ungrateful children. The low tasteful murmur of conversation was swirling around him, but Lucius was making no effort to take part in any of it. He was watching.

Sitting opposite Narcissa, his chair tipped back in undisguised contempt and defiance was an utterly remarkable and fascinating young man, the same ungrateful child Malvolia Black was condemning, her oldest son, Sirius. Lucius remembered him only dimly from Hogwarts, and there only as a rather annoying young Gryffindor, one of a pack he'd had numerous occasions to dock points from when he was Slytherin prefect. He'd been all knees and elbows then, Lucius remembered, clumsy like a young puppy, grown up but not yet into his height.

He'd grown into it now. The dark hair was cut rebelliously long, face still holding the last of the beauty of childhood and the promise of an incredibly handsome adulthood, and his body was long and lean. He had been given a small goblet of watered wine, as was traditional for young wizards of his class, and was playing with the residue, holding the glass by the stem, swirling the blood red liquid in wide circles in the bottom of the glass.

Lucius sat motionless, heavy lidded eyes fixed on the youth, watching his hands, his face, his presence - the product of generations of selective breeding of the best and brightest of their society. It occurred to Lucius that Sirius Black was a mirror image of himself, a dark twin to his pale beauty. They would look lovely together, sable on snow, a far more dramatic pairing than he and Narcissa, whose pale beauty matched his own.

The boy's mother glanced his way, said his name in an unmistakable tone, and stared pointedly at the glass. The youth smiled back at her, and there was not one inch of joy or happiness in the smile – it was an expression of total calculation, worthy of a Slytherin in fact, and he slammed down the goblet so that the long stemmed crystal teetered and fell, the dark red of the wine seeping instantly into the pristine linen of the tablecloth.

Without even turning from his conversation, Orion Black raised one sharp eyebrow at his son, who flushed and but did not look away. A quick cleaning charm took care of the mess, but both Blacks narrowed their eyes and stared at their heir. "I do not believe," Orion Black pronounced, "that Hogwarts is what it once was. Certainly manners and the arts of gentle society are sadly neglected."

Malvolia Black sniffed her agreement. "At least in some houses. It is a shame that Regulus was unable to leave school for the weekend to join us, but he begged to stay behind to watch his house team play Quidditch, and I'm afraid I indulge him shamefully. I have every hope that he will make the team next year." Lucius strongly suspected that Sirius Black was already on his house's team, and the look on the boy's mother's face confirmed it.

Malvolia stood, gathering the stiff satin formal robes around her. "The ladies will withdraw," she announced in stentorian tones, and out of the corner of his eye he noted the other female guests rising to join her, Narcissa eyeing him reluctantly, as though she hoped he would take the opportunity to spend time with her. He paid her no heed – all his attention was focused like a narrow beam of light on the youth who sat before him, arms folded on his chest, arrogance and anger spreading over his handsome face.

How beautiful that face would look in the ecstasies of passion. He pictured the silky hair, tousled around a face flushed with arousal, his head thrown back, exposing the smooth skin of his neck to Lucius' lips and tongue. The slender body bare, trembling with anticipation, his young prick weeping, thrusting upwards for something he did not even understand. A dark, brooding angel, hovering on the cusp of innocence and experience. It would be a shame for such a rare gem, such an exotic bloom to be plucked by someone who could not appreciate its value; some randy teenager who would last only long enough to force his way past the tight pucker before desecrating this perfect vessel with his foul seed.

"Orion, I have not had the pleasure of a proper tour of your home," he commented. "I admit to some curiosity - I've been told you have quite an impressive library and collection of interesting artefacts."

Black Senior nodded. "Yes. I think you'll find some rather unique items in the collection. And of course there's also a rather nice conservatory."

A conservatory. That had promise. "I should very much like to see it. Perhaps your son would be good enough to escort me?" He looked at Sirius, brooding in his corner, then back at his father, lifting his eyebrows in subtle query.

Black looked him up and down, smiled slightly and nodded. "Sirius, give our cousin a tour of the property." Sirius looked up, rebelliously. "And I expect you to be co-operative, give Lucius anything he should ask for." Lucius nodded his thanks to Orion Black, a man of the world who understood how these things were done.

Sirius pushed roughly away from the table, turned to Lucius, glared at him, then stalked past his father. Lucius rose as well, nodding politely to the company of wizards who were settling into serious political talk, and followed his reluctant host from the room.

A whirlwind tour down the hall followed, punctuated by terse identification, "drawing room, card room, parlour." When they reached the library, Lucius pushed past the boy, who had no alternative but to follow.

"Please sit down, Sirius. I would like to peruse the collection for a bit." Lucius pretended to examine a treatise on the use of Deadly Nightshade in conjuring potions whilst watching Sirius, who stripped from his dress robes and wadded them up in a corner. Lucius' assessment of the boy's potential had not been wrong. The muggle jeans, worn no doubt as a subtle rebellion, cupped his arse tightly, emphasizing the curves, hugging the slender waist.

Lucius closed the book. The boy had picked up an old copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, and was flipping through the pages. "Do you play?" he asked.

"Yeah. This is my first year on the house team. I'm a beater." That did not surprise Lucius – the musculature of the arms beneath the muggle tee-shirt was on its way to being formidable. Sirius continued. "I'm just okay, nothing special. But James, he made the team last year – he's really good at it." Something in his voice when he spoke his friend's name made Lucius look up. That was the tone one used when describing a lover.

"James Potter?" Lucius knew the family – an old wizarding house, but with upstart ideas of Mudblood equality and suchlike. He remembered Potter as a first year, all spiky hair and glasses – not worthy of his dark angel.

Sirius nodded, and a genuine smile crossed his face for the first time that evening. "He's my best mate. We had a Quidditch match this weekend, against Slytherin, but they made me come here instead." The smile faded.

"And Potter, is he your special friend?" From the blush that suffused his companion's face, Lucius was sure he had hit his mark. Sirius rose abruptly.

"I'll show you the conservatory." He led the way down the hall to the back of the house, through a massive door and into the conservatory. Three walls were glass panels, revealing the outdoors, where autumn had firmly taken hold. The trees were barren of leaves, spindly skeletons of their summer's glory, the garden bleak and empty. Cold, though the room itself was magically spelled to maintain its temperature. Within the chamber were all manner of growing things, from the mundane to the exotic, and the scent of roses had permeated the very walls.

"You'll have to pardon the mess. Nobody comes in here except my mother, and even she stays away in autumn and winter." The hatred in his voice when he said the words 'my mother' was unmistakable. There was a wicker lounge before a glass topped table covered in bar ware, and Lucius sat down, stretching his elegant legs out before him. He gestured to Sirius to join him, but the boy stood motionless by a tall worktable covered with dried blossoms and the detritus of the gardener's craft.

"You mustn't be ashamed, Sirius, if you have a special friend. It's not unusual, you know." He spoke calmly, with great sympathy. "You can tell me about it – I assure you I will understand, from personal experience." He raised his elegant eyebrows slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting in just a hint of naughtiness.

"But you're engaged to Narcissa!" Sirius protested.

"And I will undoubtedly marry her. She is a good woman from an excellent family – she will breed worthy heirs for my family. But as a man, I understand the pleasure one can take in the company of other men. There is a collegiality, a comradeship that women cannot possibly comprehend." He leaned forward, examining the bottles that were lined up neatly on a tray in front of him. "Do stop brooding and come and sit down. Or would you rather we go back and join your father?"

With that, Sirius came over and planted himself as far as possible from Lucius, sliding clear to the end of the sofa. "Thank you." Lucius held up a bottle of dark amber liquid. "This is an excellent whisky. Have you tried it?" Sirius shook his head; eyes wide as Lucius poured two small glasses of the stuff, and handed one to him. "It's Ogden's Special Reserve – 20 years old and quite smooth, as I recall. Not cheap though, and certainly not for everyone," he added as he sipped, letting the liquor dissolve and evaporate on his tongue, the subtle aromas of peat and oak emanating from the glass adding to the flavour.

Sirius tentatively raised the glass, inhaling the peaty smell of the whisky, then flicking out his tongue cautiously to catch a few drops. Seeing the pink tongue darting in and out, Lucius felt himself begin to harden. "Don't be afraid – it's probably best if you just swallow it all at once, your first time." Lucius smiled, and Sirius threw back the whisky , then choked and coughed as the stuff burned his throat.

"Well, it is an acquired taste, like so many fine things." He rose and walked over to examine a row of roses, black roses of exquisite appearance that were lined up in large tubs along the window. "These, for example. These are quite splendid," he commented.

Sirius scowled. "They're my mother's special project. I hate them – they're all wrong."

Lucius picked one perfect obsidian bloom, petals soft as a summer's midnight, velvet-smooth and opened fully, a mature rose. "You're mistaken," he said softly. "They're perfect." He plucked another rose, this one a bud, tightly drawn in upon itself, unrealised potential, waiting for sunlight and water and time to bring it to maturity.

"Well, for something so perfect, they've got nasty thorns. Be careful." Sirius warned. His arms were pulled in tightly to his chest, and he looked like a frightened rabbit, ready to bolt at the slightest movement. Lucius laid the rose on the table and poured another two fingers of whisky into the boy's glass. "Relax, have another. Tell me about Potter."

Slowly the boy's arms relaxed, he sipped at the whisky. "James is wonderful. He's funny and smart and brave and loyal."

"And you love him." Lucius continued. Sirius looked up, sharply.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." Lucius settled back, slowly stretching his arms behind Sirius. "It's quite apparent. Tell me, do you think of James when you touch yourself?"

The whisky sputtered out of Sirius' mouth, and he gaped at Lucius, who smirked. "I'll take that as a yes, then. And have you gone beyond thinking and dreaming? Have you kissed him, have you touched him? Has your hand slipped into his robes, searching out his hardness?"

Sirius started to get up, but Lucius' hand clamped down on his wrist, holding him immobile. "Don't go, cousin. Surely at some level you want to talk about this, you need to share these feelings, and who better to share with than I? A relative, but not a close one, a man older than you, but not so remote as to have forgotten what it is like to want so desperately."

Sirius put down his glass and stopped struggling against Lucius' grip. "I…James and I haven't…I kissed him, once, in the Quidditch locker. That's it."

"But you'd like to do more?" Sirius nodded. "Have you ever done more – with anyone?"

"No," Sirius said reluctantly, sipping at the whisky again. He was starting to relax, Lucius noted, his face was delicately flushed, lips moist and opening slightly. The brilliant azure eyes were a bit unfocused, and had darkened to a midnight hue almost indistinguishable from black.

Lucius' hand traced a slow path up Sirius' back, just barely touching the young straight back. "I think you'll find the first time somewhat awkward, unpleasant, especially with the two of you so inexperienced." His hand travelled into the silky hair. "You'll be able to please your James much better if you know what you're doing."

"I s'pose," Sirius said.

"So, let me show you." Lucius shifted in his seat and brought his lips to his cousin's, pulling his head back to open his mouth, his tongue thrusting deeply. Sirius froze, and tried to pull away, but Lucius was insistent, tongue and lips and teeth persuading, forcing.

"What…what are you doing?" The boy's voice rose squeakily. So young, so absolutely perfect.

"I thought you said you'd done that. I love kissing – it's a promise of things to come." Lucius said, calmly. "I'm going to show you how to please your lover."

Again, the boy started to rise, and were it not for the liquor, he may have succeeded, but Lucius easily pulled him back down. "You know you want to. I can see it in your eyes. You're already hard for me, Sirius, and we both know it. Besides, I'd hate to have to go back to your father and tell him you'd been unco-operative."

"My father-" he started to say.

"Knows exactly how these things go. Relax, enjoy yourself. I assure you, I'm quite good at this." Lucius smiled, slowly unfastening the buttons on his robes. "Your James will never need to know, but believe me, he'll benefit from your experience. You don't want to hurt him, do you?"

Sirius was staring now, a look of utter confusion and slight intoxication on his handsome young face. "No," he said slowly.

"You will, you know, if you're a virgin. You'll be too eager, go too fast or won't prepare adequately. He might even bleed. Only women should bleed when they're taken, Sirius." He stood and carefully folded his robes, laying them across a high stool. "Take off your shirt," he purred, and as though hypnotised, Sirius complied. Lucius sighed softly as the shirt rose, gradually exposing the flat belly, the smooth chest with its developing pectoral muscles. If Sirius was trying to be deliberately seductive, he couldn't have done a more effective job – he was born for this. "Come here."

It was as though the boy was under Imperius. He walked, glassy eyed, without hesitation to where Lucius stood. He took him in his arms, and kissed him again, hands exploring the hard planes of the young body, fingers seeking and tugging gently at the hardening nipples. Sirius moaned lightly. "Like that, do you? I hope you're paying attention, thinking about doing all of this to James." Lucius' mouth followed the curve of his cousin's neck, from under the ear to throat. He would be tall, this cousin of his – was already nearly as tall as Lucius himself.

He broke off, took up his wand and stretched the wicker sofa so that it became a bed, then magically removed Sirius' remaining clothes. He had been right, the boy was already hard, prick quite impressive for a fourteen year old, red and dripping. Lucius knelt and took the organ in his hands, rubbing lightly, thumbs teasing over the top, then without warning, slid his hands around to clasp Sirius' buttocks and engulfed the boy's length with his mouth.

Sirius' knees went weak, he groaned louder this time, and Lucius' fingers clamped hard on his arse, hard enough to leave bruises, hard enough to keep him standing. He worked the prick with his mouth, tongue and lips and teeth coming together skilfully to bring the boy to the very edge of completion. Lucius smiled to himself as Sirius' hands came down to tangle in his blond hair. He had him now. There would be no pulling back, no false cries of 'no' or 'stop' now. No girlish scruples to overcome.

Lucius pulled away, deliberately, slowly easing his mouth from Sirius' cock one agonizing inch at a time. His teeth caught on the ridge, and he pulled slightly, his own organ stiffening as Sirius cried out, little sounds of agony and pleasure reverberating in the silence of the conservatory.

He pulled himself free of his clothing, and led Sirius down to the transfigured sofa, pushing him over onto his belly, tucking his knees under him, spreading him wide for Lucius' pleasure, then bringing his hands up Sirius' knees, around the round globes of his buttocks. His hole was tight and wrinkled, perfect and pink. Sirius started to make a protest, but Lucius was atop him, lifting his heavy black hair, lightly kissing the nape of his neck. "Shh. You liked what I was doing to you – don't deny it. It's meant to be enjoyed. And there's more to come, a whole world of earthly delights for you to experience, and then to share with your lover."

His hands massaged the boy's slender back, stroking up and down, making light circles around the shoulder blades, caressing the outline of his waist, then travelling downward to hover over his cleft, each pass bringing more pressure, more depth to his touch. And Sirius was responsive beyond his wildest dreams, opening his legs wider with each touch, shuddering as Lucius' questing hands discovered and explored his balls and perineum. Not even pausing in his seduction, he scanned the conservatory, seeking something to ease his passage. A jar of hand lotion sat on the table near pruning shears and gloves. That would do.

A quick accio and the lotion was in his hand, then one slick finger was probing at the ring of muscle. Sirius froze, every muscle screaming with tension, and Lucius murmured soothingly, as though he were taming a wild beast, using his other hand to stroke Sirius' hair as his finger eased its way into him. The boy's breathing was ragged and uneven, and the gasping combined with the tight grip on his finger was sending Lucius' prick into paroxysms of desire, almost uncontainable. But his patience would be rewarded, and though taking Sirius now, virtually unprepared, would be quite satisfying, the anticipation of sliding into his stretched and slickened arse, listening to Sirius begging him for more would be a moment to be treasured.

"Breathe, little cousin, just breathe. The pain is fleeting, and I assure you, you'll remember the pleasure for a long, long time." He began to thrust his digit carefully in and out, synchronised with the rhythm of his voice. Almost immediately Sirius began to move under his touch, tiny tentative thrusts. What a perfect little slut he is. A second slick finger joined the first, and Sirius quickly adjusted to it, moaning deliciously. Lucius leaned up to bite his ear, and he felt moisture on his cheek. The boy was crying – how wonderful.

"Tears, Sirius?" he whispered between kisses. "Pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow – I want you to experience it all with me." And his fingers withdrew, and he was sliding between his cousin's legs, cock slicked with lotion, no longer patient or slow or considerate of his cousin's virginal state, but pushing harshly into him, too eager to contain his desire anymore.

"James," Sirius cried out, and moaned, soft groans of pain as he was breached for the first time, and the muscles of his arse clenched involuntarily, sending spasms of delight through Lucius' prick. He was buried balls deep in his young cousin's tight hole, and it was the most marvellous thing he'd ever experienced. He adjusted his angle so it was just right, and thrust again. Sirius gasped, shaking as the unexpected pleasure countered the pain and he arched up to meet Lucius mid thrust. Lucius reached under him and grasped his hard young prick.

"Oh yes, that's right, you're so hard for me, you're dripping for me." Beneath him Sirius was sobbing openly now, but he was also thrusting hard against Lucius, unable to stop himself, and amidst the sobs, Lucius could make out words – 'more' and 'yes' and 'James'. The boy's mewling whimpers were hastening his climax, and he drove harder, deeper, seeking his release. He jerked sharply at Sirius' prick, and the boy screamed out, spilling his hot sticky seed over Lucius' hand.

Then it was Lucius who was coming, waves of intensity shaking his body, his arse clenching and convulsing as his prick emptied into Sirius' channel. He allowed himself to collapse, blond hair falling forward to cover the boy's midnight black. Sirius was still breathing heavily, but he'd stopped crying. "So good, sweet Sirius – you've been just marvellous. I shall tell your father how wonderfully willing you were, how solicitous of my pleasure – the perfect host."

He pulled out of the silent boy, the sharp scent of sex mixing with the sickly attar of roses that pervaded the conservatory. Lucius rose, pulling his trousers on, smoothing his robes. He looked down at Sirius – round globes of his sweet arse still exposed, sinuous line of his back trembling slightly as he fought for control of his breathing. Lucius picked up the black rosebud, and carried it over to the window, surveying the garden where the last of the leaves were falling from the trees.

"I find it fascinating, how autumn goes so quickly from lush beauty to death and decay. All those beautiful colours gone in an instant, recalled only in memory. But what you might fail to recognise is that new life is hidden, nascent within the putrefaction of winter. Every new stage of life is birthed from pain, you know. I don't imagine you appreciate that now, though."

Returning to the broken boy, he slid the bud of the black rose over Sirius' bare back, the velvet petals drawing a shiver from him, then again and once more, each time allowing the thorns to mar the perfect skin. The boy lay immobile, hardly breathing as Lucius carefully plucked the petals from the rose, scattering them like rain across his beautiful, bleeding back.