Fic: To Own a Quidditch Player (Harry/Lucius)

[lady-of-clunn.livejournal.com]

Title: To Own a Quidditch Player
Author: lady_of_clunn
Prompt Number: 52 submitted by missingkeys
Kink Showcased: Chastity devices
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Harry/Lucius
Summary: Lucius has his own opinion about training methods.
Warnings/Content Notes: Male chastity device, D/s (of sorts), prostate milking, orgasm denial, consent issues
Word Count: 3877
Author's Notes: With love to missingkeys, I hope I have done the prompt justice! You have taken my slash virginity ;) A huge thank you to stgulik for the excellent beta and to notsocraven for alpha reading and hand-holding! All mistakes are mine and mine alone. (I fiddled with this just before posting.)







Disclaimer: I do not own anything associated with Harry Potter; I do not make money by writing this story.


To Own a Quidditch Player



It was not the first time that Harry had sat in the squashy armchair in front of the chairman’s desk. The rotund, short man usually fell over his own feet to provide Harry with drinks.

It was, however, the first time he had been summoned to this office.

Harry rubbed his hand through his hair and experimentally licked his lips. Grimacing, he hoped for that drink, and soon. His tongue seemed to have regrown its morning pelt. His head hurt slightly, too, and his vision was a bit blurry around the edges—an aftereffect of the hangover potion and his building tolerance to it.

He had not caught the snitch in yesterday’s match. Again. They had still won by a slim margin because the team had been shooting at the hoops frantically since the match started, making up for the fact Harry had wobbled into the air rather than kicking off.

Maybe it was time to do something about all this. Soon. Not now, though. It hadn’t deterred the fangirls—and boys—afterwards, so it was all good, right?

Harry yawned.

Just what was taking old Shortstride so long?

The heavy door behind him opened soundlessly, letting in a gust of cooler air. It was closed just as quietly and quick, confident steps carried across the Persian carpet towards the wide wooden desk.

“Mr Potter.” Lucius Malfoy came into view and settled into the chair behind the desk, throwing his leather gloves carelessly to the side.

Harry sat up, his hand already going to his wand of its own volition. Malfoy simply raised an eyebrow and Harry blinked. Something was horribly wrong here.

“Mr Potter, I suggest you refrain from drawing a potentially fatal weapon on your employer.”

“Employer!” This time, Harry did leap out of his seat, wand drawn.

“Yes. I recently acquired the Appleby Arrows after the good Mr Shortstride felt a sudden and urgent need to retire to his ancestral home in Nottinghamshire. Owning a successful Quidditch team does wonders for one’s popularity ratings, or so I hear.”

“Retire?” Harry asked stupidly, not quite grasping what was happening.

“Mr Potter, do sit. We have business to conduct.”

Harry sat heavily. He watched Lucius Malfoy—Lucius Malfoy!—retrieve several scrolls of parchment from a drawer and pour over them, seemingly forgetting that Harry was in the room with him. The late afternoon sunlight made the man’s long blond hair glow in the darkly-panelled room.

Suddenly he placed the parchment on the desk and steepled his fingers in front of his chin.

“The Arrows have gone down in the league in the last year. Ninth place is not dire, but it is a noticeable dip in the club’s record. You catch the Snitch two out of five times; that is below average for a professional Seeker at a club of the Arrow’s standing. The team wins mostly on the work the other team members do, and they have started resenting you for it. Practice attendance is at 47 percent, which normally is cause for disciplinary bans or even dismissal from the team. Not to mention the near-daily reports of your exploits. Your eyes are red-rimmed most days and you reek of alcohol, recreational potions and smoke. Have you even had the decency to take a shower or apply a few refreshing spells before coming to see the owner of the club that pays your salary?”

Harry could only sit in dumbfounded silence. Malfoy’s statement rang with truth; he had been off his game lately. In the beginning, he had been training hard, giving his all in practice and matches. But he soon had realised that the opposing teams were terrified of him, the destroyer of Voldemort, and that it did not matter how much or little effort he put in, they always celebrated him. It had left a mouldy taste in his mouth, and he slowly had let himself slip, concentrating more on the celebrating than the actual game.

“Mr Potter, why do you think you are still playing first string? Why do you think you are still playing for the Arrows at all?”

I am Harry Potter, Harry thought numbly. And then, Oh, gods, he is firing me.

“Would you like to stay on the team, Mr Potter?” Malfoy asked quietly.

Harry’s chest constricted. Playing was all he had, the only thing giving structure to his otherwise aimless life. Had he really let his teammates down this badly?

“Yes. Yes, I would like to stay on the team.”

“Very well, Mr Potter. I am about to give you a choice. You can either submit to whichever training methods I see fit to employ to get you back into the shape of a professional Seeker, or you can leave now, retire honourably and pursue whichever career you desire.”

Harry closed his eyes. Grimmauld Place was empty. His life was empty. If he had no practise to attend, no matches to train for, no after-match parties to drown in, he knew he would completely spiral out of control.

“I would like to stay on. I owe this to my teammates,” he heard himself say.

Malfoy pushed a sheaf of parchment across the desk and held out a quill for Harry to take.

“In that case, would you please sign this addendum to your contract?”

Harry took the quill. “Shouldn’t my solicitor see this first?”

“Read it, Mr Potter. I trust you will find it simple enough. No hidden meanings. However, should you decide to let this go through the channels of your and the team’s solicitors, I am afraid we will have to place you on second string until all is resolved. It should not take longer than a few weeks at most.”

Malfoy made to take the quill and parchment back and Harry hastily bent over the short contract to quickly read through it. Second string would mean interminable hours on the bench with nothing to chase away the aimlessness. He would probably not show up anymore after the second match or so.

It was simple enough. In signing this, he was agreeing to let the owner of the Appleby Arrows, Lucius Malfoy, determine any and all of his training methods. Should he fail to comply, there would be a three strike warning system – intensified training for the first infraction, moved to second string for the second and dismissed from the team for the third infraction.

He signed.

“Very well, Harry.” Malfoy stood and stepped around the desk. “Remove your robes. I think we have to start with getting your private life under control as it clearly encroaches heavily on your training schedule, not to mention its effect on your reputation.”

“Remove my robes?” Harry asked dumbly, thinking the hangover potion was making him hear things.

“Mr Potter, I thought you made a choice. Do we have to intensify training before we have even started, or would you like to reconsider? You are free to leave at any time.”

Harry hastened to struggle out of his light blue Appleby Arrows robes, revealing his usual jeans and t-shirt. Thankfully, both were clean and not too wrinkled from being kicked around his bedroom floor.

Malfoy nodded and leaned against the edge of his desk. “Very good, Harry.” Resting his hand on a polished wooden box to his left, he stood and watched, making Harry feel ever so slightly unstable. “You celebrated the team’s win yesterday?” Harry nodded. “And did you take a… companion home with you?”

Harry exhaled and looked at Malfoy with wide eyes. “Er… yes? What’s it to you?”

“It is a considerable distraction. You are obviously suffering from prolonged use of hangover potions on a regular, possibly daily basis. You are also very tired.”

“It’s not a practice day!” Harry blurted, clenching his fists at his sides.

“No more drinking or any potions other than prescribed medical ones unless I allow it.” Malfoy said in a stern tone. “Have you done yourself any more damage? Take your shirt off and push your trousers down to your knees.”

Harry gaped.

“I have very little time, Harry. Would you like to leave?”

“No, sir.”

Malfoy gestured imperiously with his hand and Harry pulled his shirt over his head. He felt himself blush when he fumbled to unbuckle his belt. Taking a deep breath, he opened the buttons of his flies and pushed his jeans down to his knees in a quick movement.

Malfoy circled him, one hand pensively at his chin.

“You could do with better nutrition, Harry. I will have my experts write up a customised diet and have meals delivered to you accordingly.” He stopped in front of Harry. “Widen your stance a bit.” Harry struggled to comply with the jeans restricting his movements. “Muscle tone is not bad, though. At least you haven’t completely given up on your training.” Malfoy turned around and opened the wooden box. “Brace yourself on the arms of the chair, please,” he said without turning back. Harry felt for the armrests and gripped them awkwardly. They were a bit too low to allow him to stand comfortably and his hips were jutting out slightly. How very bizarre.

Malfoy turned around wand in hand and cast two charms in quick succession. Harry startled and although he tried to let go of the armrests, his hands were stuck fast. He found that he could not move his feet either.

“Malfoy!” he shouted.

“No need to be alarmed, Harry. I need you to hold still for the next few minutes.”

“Release me! This is not funny!”

Malfoy cast a quick cleaning charm that raced along Harry’s body like a wave of pins and needles.

“Ow!”

“Now, now, you did not strike me as a whiner, Harry.”

“Malfoy, what are you doing? What does this have to do with anything?”

The much taller man came alarmingly close and hooked his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s pants.

“No!”

“I am afraid we are now beyond no, Harry, unless you want to leave the team after all?”

Harry bit his lip furiously and shook his head.

His pants went down to where his jeans already were. Exposed to the gaze of Lucius Malfoy, Harry stared out of the tall window behind the desk where the blue skies were just about to turn a bit dusky.

“Your private life has been somewhat… uncontrolled, as of late, Harry. This has proven very detrimental not only to yourself but also to your performance on the team. I am afraid this has to stop immediately.” Malfoy reached behind him into the box and withdrew a metal device that vaguely resembled something that might be used for fishing. Lucius Malfoy looked into Harry’s eyes as he took his cock in a dry and cool hand, slipping a metal mesh cage over it and securing a metal clip behind his balls. “What is this? Malfoy, take it off! Take it off now! This has nothing to do with training! You pervert!” He tried to twist his hips away from Malfoy but only managed to make his back ache.

“Has it not, Harry? Have you or have you not signed a magical contract submitting to any method I see fit? I asked you three times after your initial agreement whether you would like to back out. You do know the significance of acquiescing three times, I trust?

Fucking hell. He was so screwed.

Magic lapped in a gentle tide across Harry’s hips and he had no doubt that it would be impossible for the device to be removed by anybody other than Lucius Malfoy. Breathing heavily through his nose, Harry tried to regain part of his composure.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

“I want you to sleep at least seven hours per night. I want you to eat three meals a day. Wholesome meals. I want you to stay away from questionable gatherings and recreational potions, as well as liquor. I also want you to abstain from casual encounters. The latter should be effectively enforced by the chastity device you are currently wearing.”

“Chastity device!”

“Yes, you heard me, Harry. A well-practiced and effective tradition in professional sports.” Malfoy leaned back and cocked his head to the side, considering the situation. “Are you quite ready to be released? I assure you that you will be unable to attack or harm me in any way in this office.”

Seething, Harry nodded.

With a wave of his wand, Malfoy let the bonds melt away and Harry yanked up his pants and jeans. When he was finished buttoning his flies and pulling his discarded t-shirt over his head, he found Malfoy holding out a scroll to him.

“Your copy of the addendum to your contract. Another copy will remain in my possession and a third one will be filed with your official file at HR.”

“This,” Harry gestured vaguely to his groin, “cannot possibly be legal. How will I even ride a broom like this?”

“I assure you it is legal. You agreed when signing to submit to any means I seek to employ. I was expecting at least an attempt at negotiation there. Ask your solicitor if you wish, but consider whether you think I would do something that is not absolutely and undoubtedly legal—in addition to being historically traditional in professional sports—after I have been working so hard on re-establishing my family’s good standing in society? Do not worry about your ability to play. The mesh will prevent you from achieving and sustaining an erection, but it is flexible enough as to not hinder you too much on a broom. I could have chosen any number of less comfortable devices.” Malfoy stepped very close and lowered his voice. “Be thankful that you won’t have to Apparate to me every time you need to take a piss.”

Harry snatched the scroll out of Malfoy’s hand and crumpled it in his fist.

“Is there anything else?”

“Your new schedule is being owled to you as we speak. I expect you to follow it to the letter and to meet me here the day after the next match at four o’clock.” He placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “After your victorious battle, you seem to have lacked… guidance. I will endeavour to change this.”

Harry did not bother to close the door behind him.

Later at home, after he had eaten a meal that practically screamed nutritious, he stood in the mess of his bedroom in front of his full-length mirror, examining his trapped cock. As he had suspected, trying to pry the cage off of his body proved hopeless.

How had this even happened? He used to be able to throw off Imperius. Maybe his lifestyle had made him a bit stupid.

His bed with its crumpled and stained sheets was reflected behind him. It had been a long time since he had entered this room without being drunk or otherwise strung out. He looked around. Since he wouldn’t be going out tonight, he thought he might as well open the window and change the sheets.

By the time he murmured Nox, he had even put away all the dirty clothes and crusty stray dishes.


***


“Harry! I am pleased to see that you look much more rested. Please, do take a seat.” Lucius stood from his place behind his desk. “Congratulations on catching the Snitch yesterday; it was a pleasure to see you take joy in the game.” The man had the nerve to genuinely smile.

Harry regarded the armchair warily but decided that the horrible bit of Lucius’ training conditions had already happened and sat down. Immediately, a cup of milky tea appeared on a small side table and he reached for it to occupy his hands.

“Hm. Well, yes. Thank you. I have to admit, that winning today has felt better than in a long time. It was a good game.”

Lucius pushed a few items on his desk to the side.

“How are you holding up otherwise? Are the meals to your taste?”

“The food your elves send over is very good, if a bit boring at times.”

“Hm, I’ll have them research different cuisines to add variety, then. How does Chinese sound?” He made a note on a piece of parchment at Harry’s nod. “And your private life? Have you been experiencing nightly emissions?”

A bit of tea went down the wrong way and Harry coughed helplessly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You have been wearing a chastity device for about ten days now. It would only be natural and healthy to experience wet dreams as your body tries to remove the build-up of semen.”

“Do we really need to talk about this?” the tips of his ears were burning with embarrassment.

Lucius raised a pale eyebrow. “Any means, Harry.”

Harry closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “Yes, after about a week.”

“I see.” Lucius straightened and gestured to a few more items that hastily scrambled to move out of his way. “I think a bit of maintenance is in order, then. Will you please?” He gestured to the desk.

Relieved that the end of his torture seemed near, Harry put down his tea and stepped up to the desk. Lucius placed a hand on his upper back, pushing him forward without any real force. “I need you to relax. Bend over the desk. That’s good, just flat like that, let the surface take your weight. No need to be uncomfortable.”

Chest and head on the desk, Harry didn’t know where to place his hands and after a few awkward positions ended up stretching them out above his head. The desk was not exactly at hip-height so he spread his legs a little to get more comfortable.

A spell hit him and he felt himself pinned to the desk.

“What? Why?” he cried. He felt Lucius directly behind him, reaching around to the button of Harry’s trousers. “What are you doing?”

“As I said, Harry, there is some maintenance that I have to take care of. The contract is very clear that I am responsible for your wellbeing.”

Harry’s trousers and pants were once more pushed down as far as they would go. He could feel Lucius’ warm hands on his hips and was terrifyingly aware of his suggestive position. One hand left him, only to return cool and slick between his buttocks. Harry yelped and clenched, horrified at what appeared to be happening.

“Are you a virgin in this way, Harry?”

“This way? What way? Please don’t!” His fingers scrabbled at the wood of the desk.

The hand on his hip caressed him reassuringly. “I am not going to take anything from you that you would like to give to someone else.” A cool finger entered him and Harry went rigid all over. “I am just trying to find out how thorough I should be. Have you ever fingered yourself? Used objects?”

Objects.

Oh, Merlin.

“No,” his voice was very small.

The finger entered deeper and then withdrew slowly. Harry thought he was going to die of humiliation. Lucius’ thumb massaged the strong ring of muscle at his entrance and after a little while, a second finger joined the first. It burned for a few long moments and Harry closed his eyes, thankful for the discomfort. Somewhere deep inside him, the fingers touched something that sent a bolt of lightning through him, making him jolt violently in his confines.

“Ah, there it is.” Lucius was very still behind him. He seemed to have reached for his wand because a moment later, an icy glove of magic wrapped around his cock and balls, numbing them after a second of shock and pain.

“What are you doing to me?” Harry wondered whether he was crying. He sounded like it.

“I can’t have you becoming too excited by this, Harry. This is not for your enjoyment; it is a necessary exercise in your situation. I am not asking for asceticism but I find that celibacy—not only before a match—does sharpen one’s focus considerably. ”

Lucius moved his finger a bit deeper and drew them over the spot that had produced the violent reaction. This time, it was much more subdued, but his abdomen clenched and spasmed as Lucius massaged the spot again and again, not letting up. Harry drew in a breath that sounded like a sob.

“Try to relax as much as possible, Harry. The more excited you get, the longer this will take.”

In his effort to take pressure off his abdomen, Harry’s leg muscles locked and burned. He dimly noticed that the wood of the desk was slippery with tears under his cheek. His cock had stayed soft and numb in its cage all through the procedure. The fingers kept gliding slowly and rhythmically over the mysterious spot inside him. Harry keened with every breath.

“Relax, Harry, or I will stop, wait until you have gathered yourself and start from the beginning.”

No!, No, I want it over! I want it over!

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and consciously relaxed his muscles below his waist. The stroking never stopped and soon Harry lost all sense of time, feeling floaty and nearly disembodied, as Lucius worked his fingers in Harry’s arse.

A noise made him come back to reality. It sounded like something wet had hit the floor. And again.

Something was slowly streaming out of his cock, the feeling spiking in a sensation akin to the relief felt when he was finally able to go after needing the toilet very urgently for a very long time.

I am pissing myself, he thought in horror, staring blindly at a landscape painting on the office wall to his right while liquid kept dribbling out of him. Lucius stroked harder and suddenly stopped, pressing his fingers in and holding them there.

With a final slosh, the liquid stopped.

The pressure inside him did not let up. Harry thought he would never breathe again.

“Just a bit more, Harry. We can’t have you flying with old seed building up inside you.”

Lucius gave Harry’s insides a shove and a few more drops hit the floor.

After a long time, Lucius eased out of him, leaving him bizarrely bereft. He could feel a cleaning and warming charm and his teeth began to chatter.

A warm, wet cloth was passed over his face, cleaning away tears and snot. Harry blindly turned into the gentle touch.

Much too soon the warm cloth left his face and gently wrapped around the cage and his cold and unfeeling cock and balls.

After a while, the cloth was removed and his pants and trousers were drawn up and fastened. The bonds dissolved.

“I… I think I might throw up,” Harry said around his still chattering teeth.

A warm hand stroked through his hair.

“You are fine, Harry. You did very well. Continue like this and there will be rewards.” Lucius breath was hot on Harry’s neck and cheek. “The end of season is only two months away.” He stroked along Harry’s back. “If the Arrows go up in the league table to at least eighth place by then, I will even let you feel the pleasure.”