"The Call of the Hunt", Lor/Lye, NC17, pt 3 of "Perverse Creatures" Arc.

[supreme_being81]

Title: The Call of the Hunt
Pairing: Lorcan/Lysander
Rating: NC17
Prompts: # 06 evil, #07  cheating - hp_wickedways prompts table
Warnings: Slash, twincest, violence, character death, het
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed herin belong to JK Rowling, Warner Bros., Scholastic/Bloomsbury. No Copyright infringement is intended, no money is being made.
Notes: Third part of the "Perverse Creatures" Arc.  Follows on from Accidental Perversions and Talk Is Cheap.  Unbeta'd.  The title alludes to what's coming, but is not shown in it's truth in this fic, although it is....hinted at.

The bright light burned through Lorcan's eyes, but the pain was nothing compared to the burn of the memories now seared into Lorcan's brain. He could hear the man talking, could even make out the words, but none of it really registered; he was still mired in the last two hours.

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Lysander's blonde hair was sweat soaked and sticking to his brow, hanging in his eyes. Eyes that were almost closed from sensation. His mouth was open slightly, letting out the small, pained gasps of breath.

His fingers travelled up the freckled, pale skinned back in front of him, tangled in the copper coloured hair and pulling back the head, claiming purchase for his ruthless, almost violent thrusts.  

Lily Potter's palms pushed against the wall, her fingers scrabbling, nails scratching along the ancient stones as Lysander fucked her like a back alley whore. Little noises that Lorcan now realised were words spilled from her blood red lips.

“Harder.... Faster..... Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

A litany of filth and betrayal, a curse that twisted and defiled anything that had ever passed between Lorcan and his brother.

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“Let's see if I have it straight, Mr. Scamander. You were upset about some as yet unstated occurrence. You were retreating back to your Dormitory when Tiberius Montague accosted you in the hallway. The...” Auror Potter looked down at his notes. “Third floor corridor in which stands the statue of Circe.”

Lorcan nodded, still staring at the table in front of him, hands gripping tightly to the cup of weak, tasteless tea he was given by Uncle...Auror Potter.

“Montague made some allegations against you, concerning your close relationship with your twin brother, Lysander. This was a continuance of the....discussion that caused the previous...disagreement between yourselves. The disagreement that ended in Mr. Montague being treated in St. Mungo's for three weeks for a rather large amount of Spell Damage and Curse Residue. These facts are correct?”

“Yes.” The word seemed to fill the room, Lorcan's voice dull.

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He was running. Running away from the scene of a crime so heinous, so heartbreaking that he feared he never recover. Up stairs, past statues, on he ran, heading for the safety of his bed, and the drapes that could seal him from the world that had forsaken him.

“Scamander. I think we have something to discuss.”

“Fuck off Montague, I'm not in the mood. Or are you really so sick that you enjoyed what you got last time? Want some more, do you?” The growl was there, turning his usual sardonic voice wild and rough, the pressure of the storm rising from the angry, power filled words.

“Magic's going a bit wild there, Scamander. I don't reckon you could control it enough to hurt me. Although I do owe you a little bit of a slap, certainly. Of course, my little friend has done it for me. All it cost was two hundred galleons, and little Lily Potter was bending over for your darling brother. He's quite good, it seems. Potter's taken a few good fucks before, doesn't often lose it enough to speak during.”

He could feel it, under his skin. His magic was twisting, wild movements that bubbled through his veins and up his throat, threatening to spill out in words he never heard before, never learned, and yet understood.

“I knew you were fucking Lysander. I mean, it's obvious, you're too close to be normal. It's not even a problem really, we're Pureblood. We understand that blood calls to it's own, that power sings a song only those closest to you can hear.  

You shouldn't have gone mental, Scamander. And you should never have touched me. I'm a Montague, my family were lords when your ancestors were scrabbling in the mud looking for worms to eat. You deserve this, and more. Lily will keep him now that she's had him and found how good he is. And she'll share him with me. I'll make him suck my cock, make him scream my name and I'll lick the blood from his flesh after Lily's finished cutting him open.

And he'll love it all. We'll twist him so much he begs for it. And you'll never touch him again. That's my weir gild, the cost you have to pay for the pain you gave me.”

Lorcan had become something else, something not sane, something not merciful. He could smell the reek of fear spilling from Montague's flesh. He could hear the accelerated heart rate beating a staccato, a teasing sound that dragged him towards it. Made him want to bring it out of the pathetic body that housed it, to set it free and let it slip away into the night.

As he moved forward, the look of terror that flashed onto his prey's face warmed him, and goaded him on.

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Auror Potter was standing now, pacing slowly across the width of the small, claustrophobic room.

“Lorcan, you have to tell me exactly what happened, or I can't help you. You do understand that if I can't help you, you'll be in Azkaban by tomorrow evening. The Dementors may not longer be there, but it's still an awful place. It will break you, Lorcan. Break you completely.”

Lorcan was about to speak, to tell Uncle Harry that he was already broken. Broken by the sight of the other half of his soul fucking Uncle Harry's daughter into the wall. Broken by the insane feeling of exultation and immense pleasure he knew when he felt the life leave Tiberius Montague's body. Broken by the sounds of howling in his mind, getting closer, the knowledge that he could not outrun those frightening howls sitting in his mind like a death sentence.

He was about to say all of this and more, when the door was flung open and his mother strode in, eyes flashing and hair moving as though caught in a breeze.

“Harry Potter, I bled for you, I fought for you. I let an insane woman torture me and protected you against all the odds, despite all pain. I gave you my friendship, and have encouraged and accepted you in all things. Do not make me regret that now. Do you understand me?” Her words rang out, strong and carrying, and Lorcan watched as Harry Potter folded in upon himself, and followed Luna Scamander out of the room as though he was a disgraced puppy following his irate master.

As he leaned back, head tilted back and resting against the wall, he wondered how long he would be here, and what he would say to Lysander once he got back.

And Lily Potter, what would he do about her?