moâ

By shiv5468 and my humble self.

Inspired by this add for anti-wrinkle cream.

HG/LM/SS
7000 words
The rating is both mature and immature. Read at own risk.

The first half or so was posted as comments on an earlier entry.

Lucius had never lowered himself to physical labour before, though he did take a lot of exercise. Some of it outside of bed, even.

Consequently, as he prepared to clean the windows of Miss Granger's house, he felt grubby, grumpy and utterly unamused until he saw the way his tormenter was looking at him from her seat on the sofa.

He was wearing an old shirt, thin with age, which was damply plastered against his body outlining his muscles nicely.

Miss Granger seemed to think so at least.

She finally raised her eyes to his face, and realised he'd been watching her ogle him. He smirked. She flushed. And an idea was born.

He dropped the cleaning tool. It hit the ground with a thud, but she didn't blink. Good good good, he thought as he brought his hands to his sides and purposefully wrenched his shirt from his body. A quick glance in her direction to watch the effect - right ho. If those eyes got any wider they'd be about the right size to be used as saucers.

He grabbed the discarded shirt in right hand and started wiping the window panes dry, starting with the upper corners to show off his nice back musculature in its full extended glory. Right-to-left, left-to-right... he swayed his hips ever so slightly to the newfound rhythm. Only, the old trousers he'd chosen for this disgusting chore weren't as tight as they used to be. Without an extra layer of shirt around his hips to hold the waistband up where it belonged, the belt inched downwards in tiny, almost unnoticeable increments.

He refused to look at her again. It would be undignified, and anyway he didn't need to - he just knew that she'd noticed. A witch with such a hardened reputation as an unprejudiced, accurate observer couldn't fail to.

Perhaps losing that bet to Severus hadn't been such a bad thing after all, he reflected as he moved to the lower half of the window, arching his back to show his backside and thighs to their best advantage.

He turned. Oh yes, she had definitely noticed the back view, and was now taking in the toned stomach muscles, the light dusting of hair, and the sharply defined hip bones.

"Right," she said, her voice a little higher than before. "Erm, you've done a very good job there, so we need to find you something else to do."

Something with a lot of bending and stretching was the unspoken addition.

Something that involved foam dripping from his body.

Something that involved oil, perhaps.

"I have just the thing," she added, sounding more confident. "Something dirty. I didn't want to ask my House-Elf to do it," she went on, "because it would involve soiling their clothes and you know how they feel about their garments after they're freed, don't you?"

Lucius blinked.

"And you believe I rank under a mere House-Elf when it comes to personal hygiene, perhaps?"

Her eyes went from his face to his sweaty, glistening, exposed chest and fell downwards to the worn trousers that seemed to hang by a complex spell to his alluring silhouette. Charming, yes. Delectable to look at, yes. Eminently lickable, yes. But better groomed than Dobby, he most definitely was not.

"Perhaps," she answered.

"You are mistaken," he said in a deadly tones. "My present attire may not be pristine, but I do value it. As it would be bad form to go back on a bet, my only choice..."

His hand flew to his fly as started unbuttonning.

"My only choice is to disrobe prior to any dirtying activity."

He hooked his thumbs inside the waistband and pulled downwards in one smooth gesture before stepping out of the discarded pair of trousers. Hermione noted, with the sense of detail and scientific accuracy that had made her reputation in many an academic circle, that he had not deemed it necessary to wear any kind of undergarment when choosing his attire for the day.

"I trust you won't deny me a shower when I am done with your chores?" he went on.

Hermione swallowed several times in quick succession.

"No-no. No. Absolutely not."

"Well then, I can't wait to get my hands on the job then... what is it?"

"The lawn," she blurted. "The lawn needs erm mowing, that's right."

The Muggle contraption she showed him was old and battered, but there would be little hardship in pushing it backwards and forwards. Her lawn was somewhat smaller than his, and she had no peacocks. Just Malfoy cock, moving to and fro as he pushed the mower, making neat strips across her grass.

She watched avidly, taking in the clenching of his buttocks, the strong lines of his leg muscles, and that cock, like some metronome controlling the beat of blood through her veins.

It didn't take long to finish the lawn, leaving his feet covered with grass cuttings like some forest god.

"Is that to your satisfaction," he asked, "have I shaved your mound closely enough?"

"You have, but..."

For the first time, Lucius questioned his own strategy. He had wanted to divert Hermione's attention from his humiliation to something less demeaning to him. He got the distinct impression, however, that far from lessening the humiliation this tactic would only lead to more chores to accomplish.

"But what?"

"Well you showered grass cuttings over the garden furniture... and look at your own feet! I can't let you get away with this, Severus would have good reason to claim you haven't paid up your debt."

"What is it you want me to do, then," he asked while pretending she was actually addressing his face when talking to him and not another (equally saliant) point of his anatomy.

"Well there is a tap over there," she said, pointing to the house wall, "and a hose over there, and here," she conjured a bucket and a bar of soap, "is a detergent. If you clean the table and chair, and give yourself a quick scrub, I'll consider you quite finished."

Lucius sighed. It wasn't as if he had a way out, and anyway he was feeling dirty from all the exertion. A quick shower al fresco might be just the thing... he walked to the tap, connected it to the hose, and poured water into the bucket, with the soap.

Hermione summoned a chair from inside and sat down, still ogling, like a Kneazle who's just discovered that the pot of cream had been gifted with independent movement and was using this gift from heaven to get closer... and closer...

Actually, independent movement was just the turn of phrase that suited not-so-little Lucius at the moment.

He would have blushed at the realisation if the soap hadn't suddenly coalesced into a positive mountain of foam that threatened to take over the entire garden. Oh shit, he thought, throwing himself in front of harm's way to prevent what looked like an epic cataclysm...

The foam slipped down his manly form, highlighting his best feature. Er, features.

"Tsk," said Hermione. "You really are a dirty boy, who just keeps cocking things up, aren't you?"

Lucius scowled. He was naked, covered in foam, and looking artfully dishevelled. It really oughtn't to be taking this long to get off his feet and onto his back. Or front, as the case may be.

"I'm sorry," he said, his tone making it clear he wasn't, and the only person who was going to be sorry was Severus, when Lucius was free from the terms of his bet. "I do seem to be a little clumsy today."

"I hope you aren't shirking your duties deliberately, hoping for an easier ride." She tried to look stern, but mostly looked fascinated with the way the foam was sliding down his slim frame.

"No," he said sharply. "I am just unaccustomed to hard labour in such circumstances."

"And what circumstances do make you work hard?" she asked, her eyes still fixed on not so little Lucius.

At last, this was his opening, and that meant that someone else was bloody well going to open for him, he was quite done with having to perform all the work himself.

"I never work," he answered, "even if I sometimes let myself become embroiled in forms of toil I do not enjoy. On the other hand, there are indeed circumstances that make me hard..."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, as if focussing on the very top of the foam mountain to discern its exact contours.

"to get."

Hermione blinked.

"How is that?"

Sitting on the hard ground amidst a small armageddon of dripping foam, Lucius lifted himself on his elbows and whisked the soap away from his chest. Whiff! one nipple appeared. Spliff! and the other. Swish, and strong stomach muscles appeared again. He rested his hand onto his lower abdomen and looked up, chin high, straight into the witch's eyes.

"I am not an easy ride," he informed her with all the dignity fourteen generations of Malfoys had infused him with.

"You," she said firmly, "are a tease. The question is Mr Malfoy, do you always stay hard..."

Her eyes lingered lovingly on his foam mountain, knowing that little of it was bubble.

"... to get. Or do you sometimes give a little?"

He smirked wickedly. "It's not teasing, if you deliver on your promises. And I am a man of my word."

"Are you indeed?" Hermione smirked back. "And I am a woman of my word. I promised you a shower once you had completed your chores, and you do look a little dirty.

"Would you care to step inside?"

Lucius tried to get upright, slipped on the foam yet again, cursed, and accepted Hermione's hand.

"Lead on, MacD- I mean, lead on, ma chère,"

They stepped inside, and Lucius remembered to wipe his feet on the mat before walking in for the first time in his life. Funny how he suddenly understood Flopsy's temper tantrums each time it rained and he left a trail of wet footsteps all across the hall. He shuddered. This stupid bet was going to leave lasting damage on his psyche, he felt. Thinking like an Elf! What would be next, fucking unicorns?

"Are you cold?" Hermione asked, confusing the shudder with a shiver. "A hot bath is what you need..."

And before he could realise what was happening to him, Mr. Malfoy Sr. found himself levitated and dumped into a hot bathtub, landing atop a squeaky rubber toy.

"More bubbles for your duck?" the witch asked with an impish grin.

All thoughts of elves and unicorns vanished from his mind: instead, Lucius splashed water out of the bathtub and onto Hermione's blouse.

The wet garment revealed some very interesting shapes.

"That," she interrupted, "was not a good move, Lucius." The sibilants hissed on her tongue. "Now I shall have to make you wash and iron the shirt."

He winced.

"Unless you can suggest some other service you might perform for me?"

"The least I can do is help you out of it," he offered, apparently reluctantly. He didn't want to appear too eager, despite the sight of her full breasts pressed against damp material. Damp, cold material.

She didn't reply, but moved closer, and he took that as the invitation it was. He undid each button on the shirt, sliding it free of the constricting hole, revealing soft, pale flesh to his view.

When all the buttons were freed, she shrugged her shoulders, and the shirt fell to the floor.

"Oh dear," he said. "The water seems to have gone right through, and your undergarments are quite soaked too."

Hermione's eyelids flickered closed for a moment. "I wouldn't want to catch cold," she said.

His hands inched under each bra cup, massaging the damp skin softly. This was the kind of support her breasts could do with more often, Hermione thought, it fit much better than any undergarments... possibly because each hand kept adjusting itself... Oh. Oooh. Time to get naked. She wanted those hands elsewhere.

She unhooked the bra and tossed it into the bathtub.

"Oops."

Lucius stared at her with a straight face.

"Repairing your mistakes isn't part of my service. I'm afraid you'll need to retrieve that yourself."

"And so I shall." She kneeled at the bathtub and slipped a hand under the bubbles. Hm. A hard surface... both soft and irregular... with a little button right there under her palm... "This is your chest, I believe...?"

"It is indeed," he answered, his voice perhaps just a tad deeper than usual. "But I believe your garment didn't land here..."

Hermione stopped playing with the nipple and looked at him.

"Would you happen to know where it is," she said, breath catching slightly as he cast his eyes downwards in a silent response.

"It would be my pleasure to guide you," he said, seizing her hand. "This way..."

His hand guided her along his chest, down the lines of his stomach, and stopped poised on one angular hip.

"I believe you know the way from there," he said, and released her hand.

"Do you know, I've quite forgotten what I was looking for," she said. "But it seems I've found something more interesting."

Lucius' eyes fluttered shut, as her hand dipped below the foam and found a long, hard object. Her fingers closed round it, moving up and down, still gripping firmly.

"Now, what's this?" she said. "Is it the back scrubber?"

"It certainly could scrub your backside," he answered, "but it's usually more versatile..."

"Like yourself, I presume?"

"Certainly, like myself!" his breath quickened in keeping with the rhythm of her strokes on the makeshift back scrubber, and his voice sounded a little rash. "I can clean windows-mow lawns-scrub your back-"

There was the opening Hermione was waiting for. She divested herself of her skirt, walked into the bath without further ceremony and grinned at him.

"Do go ahead. In which position do you want me?"

"All of them," Lucius said thickly, and pulled her to him, creating a small tsunami of water, reckless of the fact the he would be cleaning it up.

She smiled at him, pressed tight against his chest, and other regions, and then he kissed her.

Tongues did not duel. He knew who had the upper hand, for now, and was prepared to ceded control as she confidently possessed his mouth. It didn't matter whether he was creating the illusion of surrender, or actually surrendering, as long as he didn't have to do any more housework.

He put his hand on her waist, then stroked along the curve of her hip, urging her to move up a little and into the right position to...

...scrub his back. With her hands behind his shoulders, and his holding her waist, he'd be able to swing her around and lie atop of her... Malfoys always ended up on top after all... and have his wicked way with her... make her forget all about domestic chores as a haze of lust overtook her brain and her nether regions alike... didn't that sound like a plan, he thought while angling his hips and his neck to feel more of her skin against his.

Hermione cupped his face and lifted herself to deepen the kiss. She pushed back down into his mouth and onto his cock and Lucius let out a yelp. That was... unexpected, was his last coherent thought before concentrating on not coming right now, not now, not now.

A feat he only managed by concentrating on the thought of ironing. And then she began to move, forcing herself down on him, and the water out of the tub, and he had to pull on deeper reserves, thinking of Voldemort in his socks (don't ask how Lucius had seen that, or it will have the same effect on your libido) to exert some degree of control.

If he couldn't come out on top, then he was determined to make the best showing he could in this degrading position. He traitorous cock twitched, asserting that if it was degrading, it was all for it.

He pushed up, as she moved down, and was rewarded with a deep groan from her. "Oh that's right," she said. "Just right."

Ha! so she had a weak spot after all! A chink in the armour!

He moved his hands up to her breasts and gave them a stroke each time she ground herself on him. They were slippery from the bubbles and just the right size to be held and ooooh, this couldn't possibly be as good for her as it was for him, could it?

Voldemort's holey socks, with a dirty and hairy toe sticking out in the middle...

Hermione gasped up for air.

"Don't stop!" she cried out, burying her nail in his shoulders. Lucius realised that the sharp pain did nothing to calm him down - on the contrary, he'd never felt more on the edge and - oooooh! - he had to stop her now, change position, anything!

He let go of her and reached for the bathtub to lift himself out but she girated, and twisted, and shouted something he probably wasn't meant to understand but that sounded suspiciously like blasphemy - not that he objected, it wouldn't be the first time he'd compared himself to God and OOOOH.

Whatever water was left in the bathtub splashed out as he fell back down, Hermione still attached to his lap.

"Mmmpfh," he said, fighting for breath.

A wet - and mercifully sated - Hermione slumped down on top of him, an dmuttered something inarticulate, doubtless heartfelt praise, into his neck.

He hoped he'd merited promotion from Elf to Pet.

The water was cooling, and so were they. "I think we should get out and dry off," he said. "Perhaps adjourn to somewhere a little more comfortable?"

"We should get out and dry off," she answered, "and I'll adjourn to my bed, but you've still got ironing to do."

Now that got his attention.

"The blouse? You can't be serious?"

She grinned again and Lucius began to wonder what kind of madwoman he'd been fucking, exactly. Then she kissed him and neither that nor the cold water seemed to matter any more.

"Is there anything I could do to persuade you that ironing isn't strictly part of my duties?" he asked.

It seemed there wasn't, and he barely had time to arrange his hair nicely before he was forced to stand at an ironing board, wearing nothing but a pinny and an anxious look as he pressed her shirt.

He could feel her hot little eyes devouring him as he worked.

He smirked.

It was only a matter of time before she gave in....Oooh dear, what was that piece of lint doing there, why he'd have to stretch out to reach it.

He'd be much more able to control himself the second time around, he thought, he wouldn't let himself be caught up that way and then, then he'd show her what he was capable of. Let it not be said that mere youth can outdo decades of dedicated experimenting!

He took the iron - damn, the thing was heavy - and lifted it just a bit higher than strictly necessary to show off his biceps. He had nice arms and he did say so himself. He brought it on the blouse and infused the sweeping movement with as much suggestion as he could, fully aware that her eyes were firmly affixed on his backside.

Some might argue that shoving the poker-hot iron up the tight, shiny, enticingly shimmering fabric of the shirt's sleeve is suggestion enough, but Lucius knew better. It all came from the hips, see - nothing suggests raw sexual feelings more than a subtle clenching of the buttocks, especially when said portion of one's anatomy is artfully framed by the twin sides of a tiny apron, and an ever so slight swaying of one's lower anatomy, from the thighs to the waist. This, it screamed out to the knowing female, is what I'm good at. This is the part of me you should concentrate on. The age-old life forces of the primeval ape are still there, raw and wild and filled to the brim with unrelenting machismo, all concentrated under the little pinny, for you and you only to unleash at your discretion. This, it adds with the barest hint of playfullness, can be yours to enjoy if you dare to just lift the flimsy fabric that separates It from your stare. But will you show yourself to be woman enough for the challenge, it concludes with another sway, knowing fully well that witches in general and Hermione in particular seldom shy away from adventurous new explorations.

He lifted the iron again, prepared to savour the power it gave him over the young witch and gearing himself for the assault on his person that would no doubt shortly follow, when the bell rang.

"Severus!" a scantily clad Hermione exclaimed at the door. "What a surprise!"

Lucius closed his eyes, and prayed to whatever god that listened to Death Eaters (retired) that Severus would not cross the threshold.

"I just thought I would come round and check that Lucius was fulfilling his part of the bargain."

If there were a god, he was deaf. Or had other things on his mind because Hermione stood aside, and invited him in. "As you can see, Lucius is doing his chores nicely."

Severus grinned as he took in the view - from the front mercifully, so Lucius was covered by the pinny. His grin faded a little, when he was met with an answering smirk.

"Oh dear," Lucius said, and arched an eyebrow. "It seems that Severus hasn't wiped his feet. Just look at all the mess he's tracked into the house."

"I am looking," Hermione said, and she was, though not, perhaps, at the muddy footprints. Her speculative gaze was directed a little higher. "And I think he owes me an apology, don't you?"

Severus swallowed. "Erm, sorry," he offered.

"Oh I think that's guaranteed, isn't it, Mistress?" Lucius asked, his smile widening.

After all, he had his reputation to protect, and if that involved luring Severus into the same depraved sexual practices so they were both bound to silence, well that was only to the good.

Hermione conjured another apron out of thin air. Lucius noticed with unlimited approval that it was just as pink and just as small as his own.

Severus started.

"Now look here, I haven't lost that bet, you can't make me..."

"Can't I?"

"I'll just walk out and-"

A flick of her wand and the front door swung closed.

"I'll lodge a complaint-"

"Calm down, Severus. I'm not going to do you any bodily harm. Nothing lasting, anyway. Now we can do this my way, with you wiping the floor and getting... rewarded for it, or I can have Lucius make you clean the floor and not reward you at all. You won't deny that you're the sole culprit for this mess?"

Severus seemed to notice - at last! how did the wizard survive that long as a spy and double agent, Lucius wondered - that Hermione was not wearing much in way of clothing. His gaze traveled from her to Lucius's apron, and back to her.

"Did Lucius get a reward?"

The other wizard smirked again, and Hermione nodded.

Without another word, Severus stripped.

"There's no need to play hard to get on my account," Lucius murmured. Severus narrowed his eyes, flicking a glance at Lucius' pinny, his message clear. Lucius was imperturbable, secure in the knowledge that he had put up a much stronger fight. Why, it had taken at least three sets of chores to break his will, and even then he preferred to think of it as being subtle.

There was nothing subtle about the way Severus' cock was standing at attention, or Hermione's rapt gaze.

"I think you said something about scrubbing," Lucius prompted.

"Yes, yes I did." Hermione's attention refocussed on the task at hand with commendable speed. She summoned a cloth and bucket from under the kitchen sink, and placed it in front of Severus. "I think we'd all like to see you on your hands and knees."

Severus dipped his cloth in the bucket, and bent to his task. It took him a moment or two to find the right rhythm, but when he did, the view was splendid: he was hairier than Lucius, but his buttocks clenched beautifully as he went to work with a will.

This was a competition, as between two stags, to see who had the right to mate. It resonated on some primitive level within the two men, allowing them to show their true masculinity to its full extent: their ability to build a better nest, their ability to work hard for their mate, but above all, the shining glory of their manly physiques.

The iron steamed. The cloth swished. The blouse assumed the creases it was meant to have and lost all the others. The floor assumed a gleaming, clean appearance it had not had in a long, long time.

Mind and body reeling from the room's testosterone, Hermione felt her knees weakening sat down on the bed. There were moments where women had to admit their own frailty and renounce from competing with the superior male energies. *clench*, went one pair of naked buttocks. *sway*, echoed the other backside. Up, went the two pinnies, and presumably the two penises as well. If this was not the perfect time and place to swoon, what was? Hermione gave up the nonexistent struggle and reclined, eyes still affixed on the twin objects of her desire.

"I'm done!" the two wizards exclaimed at the very same time.

"I was here first," Lucius said. "I want my reward."

"Nonsense," Severus answered. "You lost the bet, now you come second."

"It's too late for that," the blond answered with a boasting grin.

The Potions Master scowled, glared, and started to form a scathing answer when Hermione interrupted.

"Gentlemen! Do please come over here..." Their ears - and not only their ears - pricked up, and both moved swiftly and smoothly to kneel by her feet. Hermione put her hand on Severus' shoulder, and squeezed gently. "You've done a very good job, and you deserve your reward." Severus smirked. "And so do you, Lucius." Lucius smirked harder. "Severus..." she said breathily, and leaned forward to kiss him. His lips were firm against hers, and then soft as he gave himself over to he reward, sucking gently on her lower lip.

Lucius coughed. "And my reward?"

"Is to watch," Hermione said. "For now."

She returned to her kiss, cupping Severus' face in her hands, making him rise to meet her, and lean against her as she plundered his mouth. Lucius had to admit it was a pretty view. He shifted closer, so he could see better, putting a hand on Hermione's thigh to steady himself. When she didn't object, he moved his hand higher, until his fingers rested in the hollow of her hips. She made a whimpering noise, which he took as encouragement, though whether it was of himself or Severus he didn't strictly know.

A second whimper came, when his fingers skimmed beneath the hem of her clothes, and that was certainly down to him. She threw her head back, and took in a deep breath. Before she could say anything, Lucius pounced, determined to render her speechless. She moaned, and he felt a thrill of triumph. She shifted lower in the seat. Severus, too, had moved onto the attack, his fingers replacing Lucius', then moving on until they met with the other wizards'; together, they pushed in and around.

Hermione gasped and would probably have shouted had Severus not silenced her with a deep kiss.

"Mistress," Lucius piped in, "wouldn't you rather I participated more?"

Silence equals consent, that much is universally known. In this peculiar case, Lucius thought a deep-throated moan, that just happened to coincide with his moving his fingers just so against Severus', meant a full and unreserved acceptance of anything and everything one might wish to dish out. Alas for him, the cunning plan was too late: without further ado, the witch convulsed and tightened all around him in a series of quick shudders.

He'd have to revise his opinions in re: Severus. The wizard could apparently be used to one's greater personal advantage when it came to plying nubile young witches to one's desires.

Said young witch had gone limp and Severus let go of her, laying her on the bed and covering her neck, chest and belly with soft kisses. Lucius undertook the opposite journey and travelled up her knee to her thigh, to the soft expanse of skin between hip and pelvis.

He met the other wizard there.

They looked at each other. This shouldn't have been unexpected, they'd been almost naked in the same room for some time now, after all, but they still weren't sure what to do now that they were confronted to each other's presence on such an intimate spot.

A hand fell on each of their heads and nudged them together, not gently but with no undue strength either.

Ah, they could snog, of course. They both yielded to the pressure at about the same time and angled their faces clumsily towards each other. Feeling a stubbly chin against their own jaw was alien and prickly and slightly uncomfortable, but they could each taste the smell of Hermione on the other's lips and somehow that made it all right, good even.

The witch wiggled around from under them and into a sitting position.

"You look perfect," she said, as if the picture of them kissing was the the most beautiful thing on earth since the Mona Lisa.

It probably was, Lucius thought. Better than the Mona Lisa, come to think of it, as that was small and insignificant, which was not a charge that could be levelled at either he or Severus. They exchanged glances. Slytherins were not slow to exploit an advantage when they saw one, and this had all the hallmarks of such. He kissed Severus again, more confidently this time, and with a lot more tongue, though Severus matched him all the way, until they broke off, breathless.

"Well, now," Hermione said. "You seem to be claiming your own rewards now."

Severus looked at her through hooded eyes, and said lightly, "You can't supposed we enjoyed that. It was all for your benefit."

"Your cock says otherwise," she replied, and nudged at it with her foot, making him hiss. "It looks me as if your sexuality is as fluid as your morals."

"That's unfair, Mistress," Lucius interjected. "Severus has always been a fine upstanding man."

They both looked at his cock, which twitched again. The evidence was incontrovertible.

"It's good of you to stick up for Severus," Hermione said. The evidence for that was incontrovertible too. "Now, as you're both such moral individuals, you will be very keen on fairness, won't you?"

They both nodded, but cautiously, aware there would be a sting in the tail.

"So it's only fair that Lucius should help you catch up on rewards, don't you think?" she said to Severus, whose smile widened.

"Yes, Mistress," he said, the very epitome of a dutiful pet; a pet that knows when it's feeding time.

"Come here then," she beckoned as she moved backwards on the large bed.

Severus followed with little hesitation, and Lucius frowned, trying to figure out what permutation she had in mind exactly. There was one position in peculiar he'd had many an existential thought about - his wizarding edition of the Ars Amatoria tended to open straight there, in fact - and he wondered if, perhaps, since this was the proper male/female combination... It would require him to have more active a role than he'd expected, but then all three of them had had more than enough opportunity to consider how much he was up to the task, with a stress on the first preposition.

"You, Severus, will lie atop of me," Hermione indicated with the expression and intonation of a Generalfeldmarschall in the midst of some very intricate battle planning. "Elbows down here - careful, you'll be supporting more than your own weight, good, now kiss me..."

The rest of the instructions were lost in an intricate groan and Lucius watched in mute fascination as the two of them fell into place in a slow succession of nudges, caresses, coaxings and kisses. Severus entered Hermione in one full swoop, hissing loudly as she rocked her hips to and fro, holding him close in a tight embrace. Her feet travelled up his calves and thighs and finally settled on the inside of his knees, forcing his legs apart, wider and wider still, giving Lucius more than a glimpse into the delights they were partaking in. Severus moved as fast as she allowed him to, which remained a tentative pace, almost slow, and showed off his balls and arsehole, the former dangling and luring the casual voyeur into hypnosis, the latter almost hidden between two coy arse cheeks, revealed only as each one of the slow penetrating motions ended their revolutions.

Lucius was not what one usually calls an academic type: when faced with a problem, he preferred tackling it in person and straight away than to ponder it as one would a chess match. It had led him to many a regrettable decision in the past, and getting a Dark Mark was definitely such an example; he knew, however, with gut-wrenching certainty, that this time lack of action would be the mistake rather than thorough implication in the proceedings.

Before he knew it, wandlessly conjured lubricant had magically appeared on his fingers, and he crawled up on the bed, toward Hermione, toward Severus, to complete some arcane triad he hadn't known existed until this very moment. It was the work of a moment to rub the lubricant over himself, though he hardly needed additional stimulation, and then, on the next outswing as it were, he grasped Severus' hips and slide a finger into the arsehole so obligingly displayed to him. Severus gave a low groan, that Lucius took for encouragement. Another finger, another groan, and an answering moan from Hermione, as Severus was encouraged to thrust forward a little more strongly.

Lucius glanced at Hermione, who was staring at him over Severus' shoulder with a look of wide-eyed pleasure. "Oh yes," she said, as if he needed encouragement.

Severus made another low sound of enjoyment as Lucius pulled his fingers free, only to replace them with cock, pushing slowly into his friend's welcoming body.

"Fuck," Severus said, and his head dropped as he fought for breath and control.

Lucius took that as an instruction, and began to move, each thrust pushing Severus onto and into their other partner. Hermione's eyes closed, her face flushed, and her breath coming in short gasps, and her fingers close round Severus' shoulders leaving red marks.

That was when Lucius realised that Severus, the writhing underneath him warm tight delightful armful of a Severus, was the only one of them not to have had an orgasm in the very recent past. He was thus the most likely to disgrace himself with a lack of control and of endurance. This was the kind of situation Slytherin tended to appreciate, when one's partner and possible rival was held in a more precarious position than oneself and - this was the plucked cherry on top of the cake - stayed there of his own volition. He angled himself carefully, and Severus vocally demonstrated how very much he enjoyed being held on the edge. Keen to keep his advantage, Lucius reached around his friends neck to nuzzle his chin, supporting himself only on his knees, his hands tight around the other man's hips. That meant fucking harder, and he could feel Severus' thighs shiver under the assault, and Hermione's legs moving in small delectable spasms around him.

Lucius' eyes met Hermione's, and they smiled to each other. They didn't need Legilimency to know they were thinking the exact same thought - how long would Severus last? She lifted her head to kiss the blond, and just as they started savouring each other's taste, and the taste of Severus they had both been carrying on their lips, he answered them by bucking his hips in wild leaps, as if collecting both of their sexual energies and amplifying them on the way before returning them to the other party.

Hermione closed her eyes. The weight of the two men on her, and Severus jerking inside her, and Lucius kissing her, was more than even she could take. She inched her heels from behind Severus and lifted them up onto Lucius, where she spurred them both as heftily as she could.

That did Severus in, and they both orgasmed at the same time and with the same moan.

Lucius was proud to say he lasted a whole thirty seconds longer.

It wasn't the taking part, it was the winning, he thought muzzily. Though the taking part was bloody fabulous as well.

He had the good manners not to slump over his fellow combatants in the lists of love, managing to shuffle to one side before collapsing limply to the bed. He also managed to insinuate himself deftly between Hermione and Severus on one side, to make sure that he was going to get his fair share of the afterglow canoodling. After a pause, Hermione snaked her hand round his neck, and murmured, "Now that was certainly rewarding."

"Not enough to make up for the indignities of the ironing," he replied, and kissed her.

Severus levered himself gently to the other side, a hand draped possessively over Hermione's stomach. "For Merlin's sake, man, can you let me get my breath back before you suggest another round?"

Hermione giggled. "You only ironed one shirt; don't you think you've been rewarded enough?"

"I would iron another for your sake," Lucius answered, ever the gallant gentleman. "Well, I could make a House-Elf do it," he added in a fit of lucidity.

Hermione lifted herself on an elbow. "You really haven't reformed, have you?"

"If you mean my allegiance to the Dark Lord..."

"No, I mean the treatment you give to other magical creatures. Don't you realise it's an ignominy?"

Lucius blinked, and blinked again. There were conversations that were better held around dinner, when a witch was still hungry for food and for sex and thus more receptive to one's gentle nudging along the uncomfortable bits.

"Didn't he give you satisfaction this afternoon," Severus intervened. There was after all the small matter of the bet...

"Oh, he did give satisfaction."

Lucius smirked. One, she'd admitted he was good in bed and two, his having completed the bet meant that... "your turn then, Severus," he concluded with as much smugness as one can possible infuse in a single smirk.

"His turn for what?"

"Well, serving you of course."

Her eyes widened. Both wizards could almost see the tiny cartwheels spinning in her mind, busily carrying around images of domestic chores, tiny pink pinnies and larger red penises, all joined together in the bigger picture in her mind's eyes, under the heading "tomorrow afternoon".

Severus reclined and sighed softly. "I don't mind. The benefits outweigh the exertion..."

All three of them contemplated the benefits, and the risks. Hermione had to balance the risk of burned collars and cuffs against the stresses of rewarding her two house boys, whilst keeping a gimlet eye on them for any sign of rebellion. She had the most to gain, and the least to lose - it would be no hardship to put one or both of them across her knee and paddle them till their arses glowed red. To Severus, the gain was so appreciable it couldn't but override any objections one could have to fulfilling a witch's innocent apron-laden fantasies.

And Lucius - Lucius was torn. His gut instinct told him to reject any hint of abiding by milder House-Elf management standards, but to be excluded from a paradise where Severus could roam free... to lose access to Hermione's favours...

He weighted both possibilities on his mind's imaginary scale.

Giving up on them, he saw it with mind-blowing clarty, would be final.

Staying with them left him the most opportunities, now and in the future. He could try and convince her of the various merits of delegating domestic chores outside of the household. He could persuade Severus to try that other position he'd read about...

Well, his choice was made for him, really, wasn't it.

"I think it might take a witch of your calibre to reform me, Mistress."

"I'm sure someone once said something about reformation ending not in contemplation, but in action," Hermione replied, with a glint in her eye.

Three participants, three matching grins.

They would iron out their differences.