Begging in Style

It had been exactly one year since Gilderoy Lockhart left Hogwarts. His attempts to succeed as a writer had thus far ended in frustration—not because of the stories themselves (his novels were rich with gripping plots, intriguing characters, and enough passion to stir both soul and body), but because of the magical publishing world. They dismissed fiction as a pastime for Muggles or children and demanded “true stories” of real heroism—something Lockhart, unfortunately, could not provide. He’d spent his school years mostly lost in daydreams, far more enthusiastic about imagined adventures than potion ingredients. Even the perpetually apathetic Professor Binns had nearly thrown him out of class a few times for embellishing dull historical accounts with daring duels, thrilling betrayals, and scandalous romances. Now, having come of age, Lockhart was still trying to earn a living from his vivid imagination, but the publishers remained stubborn. Try the Muggle world? Perhaps. But he had grown to love the magical one—and he longed to succeed within it. Lie? Claim his fantasies were true? Or worse, steal someone else’s glory? He’d been tempted, yes, but hadn’t yet fallen that far. Not yet. One last hope remained: a patron. Someone wealthy enough to fund his books, someone with taste, imagination, and the willingness to believe in his talent. Lockhart was certain magical readers would adore his work—if only they had the chance to read it. And he already had someone in mind. Lucius Malfoy. Wealthy, unmarried, a decade older, but still young and (hopefully) not entirely calcified by his aristocratic upbringing. Lockhart’s friends were skeptical. “Ask him for help? That pompous peacock? Not a chance,” they told him. “Unless, of course, you’re willing to get onto the man’s knees and beg—maybe then that uptight snob will show some mercy.” “Onto the man’s knees?” Lockhart had blinked, then grinned. “Sure! I’ll do anything—as long as he agrees to fund my books!” Which is how he ended up standing at the door of Lucius Malfoy’s private study, heart pounding, determination shining in his bright blue eyes. He stepped inside, exchanged the briefest of greetings— —then walked up to Lucius, who was seated in an elegant leather chair— —and promptly lowered himself onto the man’s knees. Not his own knees. Lucius’s. “If I’m going to beg,” Lockhart reasoned with a dazzling smile, “I might as well do it in style.” Lucius was... impressed. His first instinct had been to shove the intruder off his lap—but somehow, he didn’t. The blond youth was absurdly pretty. Those golden curls, that radiant grin, the way he looked at him like he belonged there. Lucius had half-opened his mouth to reprimand him—and found, instead, a flush creeping up his own neck. “You certainly know how to make an impression,” he said at last, voice low and uncertain. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll throw you out for this kind of audacity?” “Terrified,” Lockhart replied brightly. “But I desperately need your support. I’ll do anything to get your attention.” “Well, you have it,” Lucius said, managing a crooked smile. “So tell me—what is it you want?” “I want you to fund my novels,” Lockhart said earnestly, folding his hands as if in prayer. “They’re truly exciting—full of adventure, mystery, romance... I’m confident they’d be a hit!” “You’re not just confident—you’re shamelessly overconfident,” Lucius noted. “Even my fiancée wouldn’t dare sit on my lap before the wedding. We magical elites have rules, you know.” Rules Lucius found convenient to follow—when it suited him. He didn’t love Narcissa Black. But she came from the right bloodline, and she could provide an heir. One night—or however many it took—would be bearable. He already had the name picked out for his future son: Draco. A name with elegance. And menace. “That sounds... very serious,” Lockhart said, blinking in confusion. “I’m more of a, you know, casual kind of guy.” “Yes, I noticed,” Lucius murmured with a smirk. “And yet, you're bold to the point of madness.” “Should I get up?” Lockhart asked, suddenly unsure. “No!” Lucius said it far too quickly—and then cleared his throat. “No. Stay, since you’ve already... made yourself comfortable.” He slid an arm around Lockhart’s waist. “You barged in here, riled me up—and now what? You’re just going to get up and leave?” “I won’t leave unless you make me,” Lockhart said softly, resting his hands on Lucius’s shoulders. “I really need your support.” “Moral support?” Lucius asked, tone teasing. “Financial.” “How badly?” “Desperately,” Lockhart admitted. “You’re my last hope.” Lucius tilted his head slightly, as if pondering, though he mostly watched how Gilderoy began to fidget on his lap—nervously, adorably, unconsciously alluring. “Fine,” Lucius said at last, with a lazy smile. “I’ll do it. But there’s a price.” “Anything!” Lockhart breathed, his face lighting up with hope. “For every book you write,” Lucius said slowly, “you’ll have to beg me the same way you did today.” “Sitting on your lap?” Lockhart asked, feigning innocence. “I’m hoping it won’t stop there,” Lucius murmured, his hands sliding from the young man’s waist to his hips. “To be honest, I don’t think you’ve begged nearly hard enough yet. And I have a feeling you’ll be far more convincing… without clothes.” Lockhart let out a soft chuckle. “And what about your fiancée? Isn’t your wedding soon?” “Wedding, shmedding,” Lucius muttered, sounding thoroughly displeased. “Don’t bring her up right now.” “As you wish.” Lockhart shrugged playfully. “I just figured someone as rich and powerful as you could do whatever he wants.” “If only,” Lucius sighed. “My father could disown me—or kill me outright—if he found out certain things. A gay son is… not part of the legacy he imagines. But let’s not dwell on him right now. I’d rather unwrap my unexpected little gift.” Lucius was already undoing Lockhart’s robes with a sudden eagerness, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. The body beneath was even more divine than he’d imagined—smooth, golden, maddeningly perfect. Gilderoy slid off Lucius’s lap during the undressing, but only long enough to step out of the last layers—then he climbed back on, now straddling Lucius, facing away from him. Lucius remained mostly dressed—he simply parted his robe and unfastened his trousers. “So... what I’m sitting on right now isn’t your wand, is it?” Lockhart giggled. “You guessed correctly.” “Well... I’m not quite ready yet,” Gilderoy admitted. “And I could really use something slippery. You don’t happen to have anything...?” “Would a moisturizing cream do?” Lucius pulled out a tiny jar from his robe—lavender-scented. “You just... carry that around?” Lockhart blinked. “I use it on my hands after washing them. Keeps my skin soft.” “So that’s why your hands are so smooth,” Lockhart mused. “Yeah, that’ll work.” “They’re smooth because I don’t labor like commoners,” Lucius corrected, as he gently applied the cream where it was needed. “Though yes—the cream and the manicurist certainly help.” Watching Lockhart squirm and touch himself with urgent, clumsy fingers, Lucius shook his head and took over, his own hands far more practiced and controlled. “No need to rush,” he murmured, caressing the spot with care. “Let’s enjoy this.” “I was afraid you’d be disappointed,” Lockhart admitted breathlessly. “I mean… I’m not even hard yet.” “Do you think I’m a monster?” Lucius asked quietly. “A real monster wouldn’t care about your pleasure at all. Quick, loveless sex is something I expect from my marriage. But you—with you, I want more. I want it to be mutual. Do you even like men?” “I do,” Lockhart said, turning his head to look back over his shoulder. “And you’re… you’re honestly very handsome. Strong body, soft skin, immaculate grooming, not a single hair out of place. You’re exactly my type. I’m just nervous. Despite appearances, I don’t make a habit of begging like this.” “Would a massage help you relax?” Lucius asked, his tone soft, almost kind. “Perhaps… like this?” He removed his hand from Gilderoy’s front and placed both palms on his shoulders, beginning to knead the muscles gently. Lockhart flinched—then sighed, melting into the touch. “Y-yes,” he murmured, almost surprised. “That actually helps. Where did you learn that?” “I just mimicked what my massage therapist does. I hoped it would work.” “Oh, it does,” Lockhart said with a small smile, tilting his head back and truly relaxing for the first time. “I’m glad,” Lucius replied—then, satisfied with his work, let his hands return to their previous position. This time, Lockhart was hard. Lucius, already achingly ready himself, didn’t rush. He guided Gilderoy carefully, supporting him as the younger man lifted his hips and slowly lowered himself onto Lucius’s length. Lockhart gasped, trembling, as he slid down fully—until they were joined completely. And then the real ride began. Later, Lucius would think of it fondly—the finest ride of his life, even if this time he wasn’t the one in the saddle. Lockhart bounced and rocked on his lap, golden curls flying, soft moans escaping his lips, hands gripping Lucius’s knees for balance. Lucius could barely breathe from the pleasure—especially when he reached around to stroke Gilderoy’s front, making sure his partner wasn’t left behind. He himself may have finished a bit faster than he’d intended—not that he could blame himself, with a view like that. But he kept going until Lockhart reached his own release, shuddering, gasping, spilling himself into Lucius’s waiting hand. And then, still trembling and breathless, he remained seated, Lucius’s softening length still inside him, refusing to move. “I… was I convincing?” he finally asked, voice hoarse and quiet. “Very,” Lucius replied, still breathless. “But now I’m dreading how long I’ll have to wait for your second book—just to try a new position.” “You don’t have to wait,” Lockhart said with a casual shrug, finally lifting himself off Lucius’s lap. “I’d love to experiment more with you. But we should be careful. Your fiancée might not be thrilled, you know.” “To hell with my fiancée,” Lucius growled suddenly, grabbing Gilderoy by the waist and pulling him right back onto his lap. “There will be no wedding.” “What about your father?” Lockhart asked, surprised. “The inheritance? Aren’t you afraid he’ll kill you if he finds out?” “My father is very old,” Lucius said darkly. “And old men… sometimes die unexpectedly. No one even asks too many questions. It’s the age, after all.” “You’re just telling me this?” Lockhart blinked, unsure whether to be impressed or terrified. Lucius’s eyes glinted. “Gilderoy, sweetheart, you have neither the power nor the influence to be a threat to me. If you speak out, you’ll be the only one to suffer—and with no proof, at that.” Something in his gaze made Lockhart instinctively flinch—but in the very next moment, Lucius’s voice turned sweet as honey. “What did I say, hm? Just idle talk between lovers. You must have misunderstood me,” he cooed. “But I do hope you’re clever enough to accept my protection without unnecessary fuss. I’ll make you a famous author. I’ll never harm you. You just leave the family business to me.” “And once it's all taken care of?” Lockhart asked softly. Lucius smiled, sharp and gleaming. “Then we won’t need to hide. I’ll own all the estates, all the vaults, all the titles—and no one will dare question whom I choose to keep in my bed. How does that sound?” Lockhart looked at him, still a little wary—but then nodded. He’d always known he’d do anything for fame and success. And really, he wasn’t being asked to do anything... unpleasant. In fact, quite the opposite. And Lucius Malfoy did look like a marble god. “I’d be a fool to refuse,” Gilderoy whispered, wrapping his arms around Lucius’s neck—and kissing him, finally. “Most people start with that,” Lucius murmured after a long, indulgent kiss. “Not end with it.” “Well, I’m not most people,” Lockhart smiled. “I’m a creative soul.” “Oh, I noticed,” Lucius chuckled, running his fingers through the golden curls. “You really don’t care what people say about us?” “When you’re poor, you’re a pervert,” Lucius said dryly. “When you’re rich, you’re eccentric. Or an ‘unusual gentleman.’ The only person I fear is my father. But not for long. Soon, I’ll be free. And you—you have nothing to worry about. Just write your books. I’ll handle the rest.” Lockhart studied Lucius’s face carefully, then gave a slow nod. “You’re a dangerous man,” he said quietly. “But I like that. And I want to stay with you.” “I knew it,” Lucius replied just as softly. “We’re the same kind, you and I. We’ll do anything to get what we want. I only hope our goals keep pointing in the same direction.” “So do I,” Lockhart said, with a nervous smile. “Don’t be afraid of me,” Lucius whispered, stroking Gilderoy’s cheek with a serpent’s tenderness. “You have no reason to betray me. And I have no reason to hurt you. I think we’ll get along just fine. Maybe even become friends.” “I think so too,” Gilderoy replied, this time with real warmth, leaning into the touch and kissing Lucius’s hand. After all, Lockhart wasn’t rich or powerful. But he was very, very good... ... at charming the people who were.